UC-NRLF 


« 


The  One  Woman 


Her  tapering  fingers  rested  on  his  broad  foot 


The  One  Woman 

A   Story   of  Modern    Utopia 

By 
Thomas   Dixon,   jr. 

Author  of   "The   Leopard's   Spots" 

ILLUSTRATED  $Y  B.  WEST  CLlffEDINST 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1903 


Copyright,  1903,  by  Thomas  Dixon,  Jr 


A 


MANHATTAN  PRESS 

474  W.  BROADWAY 

NEW  YORK 


DEDICATED   TO   THE    MEMORY  OF 

MY  MOTHER 

(1834-1902) 

TO  WHOSE   SCOTCH   LOVE   OF    ROMANTIC   LITERATURE 
I   OWE   THE   HERITAGE   OF   ETERNAL  YOUTH 


28 


Contents 

Chapter  p»2e 

I.  The   Man  and  the   Woman  .         3 

II.  Visions  in  the  Night         .  .  .19 

III.  The    Banker   and    His    Fad  .  .27 

IV.  The  Shorthorn  Deacon     .  .  .41 
V.  The  Cry  of  the  City         .  .  -5° 

VI.  The  Puddle  and  the  Tadpole  .  .73 
.VII.  A  Stolen  Kiss  .  .  .  .81 

VIII.  Sweet  Danger  ....  90 

IX.  The  Spider 100 

X.  The  Black  Cat  .  .  .  .109 

XI.  An  Answer  to  Prayer  .  .  .128 
XII.  Out  of  the  Shadows  .  .  .137 

XIII.  A  Broken  Heart-String     .         .         .146 

XIV.  The  Voice  of  the   Siren  .         .     156 
XV.  Goest  Thou  to  See  a  Woman?         .     165 

XVI.  The  Parting      .         .         .         .         .173 

XVII.  The  Thought  That  Sweeps  the  Century  184 

XVIII.  A  Voice  from  the  Past      .         .         .189 

XIX.  The  Wedding  of  the  Annunciation     201 


Contents — Continued 

Chapter  Page 

XX.  An    Old    Sweetheart     .  .  .209 

XXI.  Freedom  and  Fellowship  .  .220 

XXII.  A  Scarlet  Flame  in  the  Sky  .     228 

XXIII.  The  New  Heaven          .  .  .238 

XXIV.  Courtier  and  Queen      .  .  .249 
XXV.  The  Irony  of  Fate         .  .  .254 

XXVI.  At    Close    Quarters       .  .  .268 

XXVII.  Venus  Victrix       ....     287 

XXVIII.  The  Growl  of  the  Animal  .  .296 

XXIX.  Bulldog  and  Mastiff     .  .  .304 

XXX.  The  Cloud's  Silver  Lining  .  .315 

XXXI.  A  Lace  Handkerchief    .  .  .322 

XXXII.  A  Lifetime  in  a  Day    .  .  .326 

XXXIII.  The  Verdict 331 

XXXIV.  The  Appeal    .         .  .     333 
XXXV.  Between    Two    Fires     .  .  .337 

XXXVI.  Swift  and  Beautiful  Feet  .  .     342 

XXXVII.  The  Kiss  of  the  Bride  348 


List   of    Illustrations 
' '  Her   tapering   ringers  rested  on  his  broad 

foot."       (Page   151)  .  .  .          Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 

"  About  her  personality  there  was  a  haunting 
charm,  the  breath  of  a  soul  capable  of 
the  highest  heroism."  .  .  .  .  24 

"  Little  ringlets  of  hair  curling  about  her 
face  as  though  scorched  by  the  warmth 
of  the  red  blood  below."  .  .  .  98 

"  Ripped  it  open,  tore  it  from  his  arms,  and 

threw  it  on  the  floor."     .         .         .         .       116 

"  Her  arms  stole  around  his  neck."        .         .       134 
"  A  faint  cry  came  from  the  full  lips."  .       277 

11  Driving  his  great  fingers  into  his  throat."     .       312 

' '  A  cheer   suddenly   burst  from  the  crowd 

and  echoed  through  the  court -room."     .       326 


Leading  Characters  of  the  Story 


Scene:  New  York — Time:  The  Present 

RUTH  GORDON        .  .         .          The  One  Woman 

REV.  FRANK  GORDON  .         .         A  Social  Dreamer 

KATE  RANSOM        .  .         .     The  Other  Woman 

MARK  OVERMAN A  Banker 

MORRIS    KING         .  .         Ruth's  Old  Sweetheart 

ARNOLD   VAN  METER  .         .    A  Shorthorn  Deacon 

BARRINGER     .         .  Assistant  District  Attorney 


"/  incline  to  think  that  the 
future  of  America  is  of  greater 
importance  to  Christendom  than 
that  of  any  other  country ;  and 
that  this  future  in  its  highest 
features  vitally  depends  on  the 
incidents  of  marriage." 

W.  E.  Gladstone. 


The  One  Woman 


THE  ONE  WOMAN 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  MAN  AND  THE  WOMAN 

OUICK— a  glass  of  water  !" 
A  man  sprang  to  his  feet,  beckoning  to 
an  usher. 

When  he  reached  the  seat  the  woman  had  recov 
ered  by  a  supreme  effort  of  will  and  sat  erect,  her 
face  flushed  with  anger  at  her  own  weakness. 

" Thank  you,  I  am  quite  well  now,"  she  said  with 
dignity. 

The  man  settled  back  and  the  usher  returned  to 
his  place  and  stood  watching  her  out  of  the  corners 
of  his  eyes,  fascinated  by  her  beauty. 

The  church  was  packed  that  night  with  more 
than  two  thousand  people.  The  air  was  hot  and 
foul.  The  old  brick  building,  jammed  in  the  middle 
of  a  block,  faced  the  street  with  its  big  bare  gable. 
The  ushers  were  so  used  to  people  fainting  that 
they  kept  water  and  smelling-salts  handy  in  the 
anterooms.  The  Reverend  Frank  Gordon  no 
longer  paused  or  noticed  these  interruptions.  He 
had  accepted  the  truth  that,  while  God  builds 

3 


4  •  ;  -         The  One  Woman 

the  churches,  the  devil  gets  the  job  to  heat, 
light  and  ventilate  them. 

The  preacher  had  not  noticed  this  excitement 
tinder  the  gallery,  but  had  gone  steadily  on  in  an 
even  monotone  very  unusual  to  his  fiery  tempera 
ment. 

A  half-dozen  reporters  yawned  and  drummed  on 
their  fingers  with  their  pencils.  The  rumour  of  a 
brewing  church  trouble  had  been  published,  but  he 
had  not  referred  to  it  in  the  morning,  and  evidently 
was  not  going  to  do  so  to-night. 

Toward  the  close  of  his  sermon  he  recovered  from 
the  stupor  with  which  he  had  been  struggling  and 
ended  with  something  of  his  usual  fervour. 

He  was  a  man  of  powerful  physique,  wide  chest 
and  broad  shoulders,  a  tall  athlete,  six  feet  four, 
of  Viking  mould,  hair  blond  and  waving,  steel-gray 
eyes,  a  strong  aquiline  nose  and  frank,  serious 
face. 

He  had  been  called  from  a  town  in  southern 
Indiana  to  the  Pilgrim  Congregational  Church  in 
New  York  when,  on  its  last  legs,  it  was  about  to 
sell  out  and  move  uptown.  He  had  created  a 
sensation,  and  in  six  months  the  building  could 
not  hold  the  crowds  which  struggled  to  hear  him. 

His  voice  was  one  of  great  range  and  its  direct 
personal  tone  put  him  in  touch  with  every  hearer. 
Before  they  knew  it  his  accents  quivered  with 
emotion  that  swept  the  heart.  Emotional  thinking 
was  his  trait.  He  could  thrill  his  crowd  with  a 


/  The  Man  and  the  Woman  5 

sudden  biirst  of  eloquence,  but  he  loved  to  use  the 
deep  v$rant  subtones  of  his  voice  so  charged  with 
feeling  that  he  melted  the  people  into  tears.  His 
face,  flashing  and  trembling,  smiling  and  clouding 
with  hidden  fires  of  passion,  held  every  eye  riveted. 
His  gestures  were  few  and  seemed  the  resistless 
burst  of  enormous  reserve  power — an  impression 
made  stronger  by  his  great  hairy  blue-veined  hands 
and  the  way  he  stood  on  his  big,  broad  feet.  He 
spoke  in  impassioned  moments  with  the  rush  of 
lightning,  and  yet  each  word  fell  clean-cut  and 
penetrating. 

An  idealist  and  dreamer,  in  love  with  life,  colour, 
form,  music  and  beauty,  he  had  the  dash  and  bril 
liancy,  the  warmth  and  enthusiasm  of  a  born  leader 
of  men.  The  impulsive  champion  of  the  people, 
the  friend  of  the  weak,  he  had  become  the  patriot 
prophet  of  a  larger  democracy. 

A  passion  for  music,  and  a  fad  for  precious  stones, 
especially  pearls  and  opals,  which  he  carried  in  his 
pockets  and  handled  with  the  tenderness  of  a  lover, 
were  his  hobbies.  He  had  in  a  marked  degree  the 
peculiar  power  of  attracting  children  and  animals, 
and  all  women  liked  him  instinctively  from  the  first. 

But  to-night  he  was  not  himself.  After  a  brief 
prayer  at  the  close  of  the  sermon  he  dismissed  the 
crowd  with  the  announcement  of  an  after-meeting 
for  those  personally  interested  in  religion. 

As  the  people  poured  out  through  the  open  doors 
the  unceasing  roar  of  the  great  city's  life  swept  in, 


6  The  One  Woman 

drowning  the  soft  strains  of  the  organ — tae  jar  and 
whir  of  wheels,  the  wheeze  of  brakes,  the  tremor 
of  machinery,  the  rumble  of  cab,  the  clatter  of  hoof- 
beat,  the  cry  of  child  and  hackman,  the  haunting 
murmur  of  millions  like  the  moan  of  the  sea  borne 
on  breezes  winged  with  the  odours  of  saloon  and 
kitchen,  stable  and  sewer — the  crash  of  a  storm  pf 
brute  forces  on  the  senses,  tearing  the  nerves,  crush 
ing  the  spirit,  bruising  the  soul,  and  strangling  the 
memory  of  a  sane  life. 

Gordon  frowned  and  shivered  as  he  sat  waiting 
for  the  crowd  to  go,  and  a  look  of  depression  swept 
his  face. 

These  after-meetings  for  personal  appeal  were  a 
regular  feature  of  his  ministry.  He  held  them 
every  Sunday  evening,  no  matter  how  tired  he  was 
or  how  hopeless  the  effort  might  seem.  When  the 
doors  were  closed  about  a  hundred  people  had 
gathered  in  the  centre  of  the  church  near  the  front. 

He  rose  from  his  chair  behind  the  altar-rail  with 
an  evident  effort  to  throw  off  his  weariness.  He  had 
laid  aside  his  pulpit  robe,  a  tribute  to  ritualism  that 
this  church  had  dragooned  him  into  accepting. 

"My  friends,"  he  began  slowly  and  softly,  with 
his  hands  folded  behind  him,  "first  a  few  words  of 
testimony  from  any  who  can  witness  to  the  miracle 
of  the  Spirit  in  our  daily  life.  We  are  crushed  some 
times  with  the  brutal  weight  of  matter,  and  yet  over 
all  the  Spirit  broods  and  gives  light  and  life.  Who 
can  bear  witness  to  this  miracle?" 


\ 


The  Man  and  the  Woman  7 

"I  can !"  cried  a  man,  who  rose  trembling  with 
deep  feeling. 

His  high,  well-moulded  forehead  showed  the 
heritage  of  intellectual  power.  His  eyes,  soft  and 
tender  as  a  woman's,  had  in  their  depths  the  record 
of  a  great*  sorrow. 

Taking  his  watch  out  of  his  pocket,  he 
looked  at  it  a  moment,  and,  as  the  tears 
began  to  steal  down  his  face,  spoke  in  a  tremulous 
voice. 

"Seven  years,  four  months,  three  days  and  six 
hours  ago  the  Spirit  of  God  came  to  my  poor  lost 
soul  and  found  it  in  a  dirty  saloon  on  the  East  Side. 
I  was  dead — dead  to  shame,  dead  to  honour,  dead  to 
love,  dead  to  the  memory  of  life.  I  was  so  low  I 
found  scant  welcome  in  hell's  own  port,  the  saloon. 
They  knew  me  and  dreaded  to  see  me.  I  had 
served  time  in  prison,  and  when  I  drank  I  was 
an  ugly  customer  for  the  bravest  policeman  to  meet 
alone. 

"Ragged,  dirty,  blear-eyed,  besotted,  I  was  seated 
on  a  whisky  barrel  wondering  how  I  could  beat  the 
barkeeper  out  of  a  drink,  when  a  sweet-faced  boy 
came  up  and  handed  me  a  card  of  this  church's 
services. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  happened,  but  all  of  a 
sudden  it  came  over  me — where  I  was,  and  what  I 
was,  and  what  I  once  had  been — a  boy  with  a  face 
like  that,  with  a  Christian  father  and  mother  who 
loved  me  as  their  own  life ;  and  then  how  I  had  gone 


8  The  One  Woman 

down,  down  in  drink  from  ditch  to  ditch  and  gutter 
to  gutter  to  the  bottomless  pit. 

"I  jumped  down  off  that  whisky  barrel  and 
washed  my  face.  That  night  I  found  this  church, 
and  the  Spirit  of  God,  here  in  one  of  these  after- 
meetings,  led  my  soul  to  the  foot  of  the  cross  of 
Jesus  Christ.  I  looked  up  into  His  beautiful  face— 
the  fairest  among  ten  thousand — the  one  altogether 
lovable,  and  I  heard  Him  say,  as  to  the  thief  of  old, 
'This  day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise.' 

"From  that  day,  hour  and  minute  I've  been  a 
living  man,  a  miracle  of  grace  and  love.  I  have  not 
touched  a  drop  of  liquor  since,  and  these  hands,  which 
had  not  earned  an  honest  cent  for  years,  have  han 
dled  thousands  of  dollars  of  other  people's  money 
and  not  one  penny  has  ever  stuck  to  them.  I  am 
the  living  witness  that  God's  spirit  can  raise  man 
from  the  dead,  and  Jesus  Christ  keep  him  unto 
life!" 

He  sat  down,  crying. 

Gordon  lifted  his  hand  and  said,  "Let  us  bow  our 
heads  a  moment  in  silent  prayer  while  every  heart 
opens  the  door  to  the  Spirit." 

At  the  close  of  the  service  he  passed  the  man  who 
had  spoken  and  pressed  his  hand. 

"Ah,  Edwards,  old  boy,  you  knew  I  needed  that 
to-night.  God  bless  you  !  " 

Jerry  Edwards  smiled  and  nodded. 

"A  lady  wishes  to  speak  to  you  in  the  study,  sir," 
the  sexton  said  to  him. 


The  Man  and  the  Woman  9 

He  looked  around  for  his  wife  to  tell  her  to  wait, 
but  she  had  gone. 

His  study  opened  immediately  into  the  audi 
torium  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs.  As  he 
entered,  a  young  woman  of  extraordinary  beauty, 
elegantly  and  quietly  dressed,  advanced  to  meet  him 
and  shook  his  hand  in  a  friendly,  earnest  way. 

"Doctor,  I've  waited  patiently  to-night  to  see 
you,"  she  said.  "I've  been  coming  to  hear  you 
for  six  months,  and  yet  I  have  never  told  you  how 
much  good  you  have  done  me;  and  I  specially  wish 
to  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  that  my  stupid  weakness 
to-night  interrupted  you.  I  think  I  came  near 
fainting.  It  was  so  close  and  hot — and,  pardon  me 
if  I  say  it — I  suddenly  got  the  insane  idea  that  you 
were  about  to  faint  in  the  pulpit." 

"Well,  that  is  strange,"  interrupted  Gordon, 
looking  at  her  with  deepening  interest.  "You 
have  the  gift  of  the  sympathetic  listener.  I  noticed 
no  disturbance,  but  I  did  come  near  fainting.  I 
have  had  a  hard  day — one  of  fierce  nerve-strain." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  Then  I  don't  feel  so  badly,  now  that  I  know  my 
idea  was  not  incipient  insanity,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"I've  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  send  back  to 
Kentucky  for  my  forgotten  church-letter.  I've  seen 
all  fashionable  society  in  New  York  can  offer  and 
I  am  weary  of  its  vacuity.  I've  been  disillusioned 
of  a  girl's  silly  dreams,  but  there  are  some  beautiful 
ones  in  my  heart  I've  held.  I  can't  tell  you  how 


io  The  One  Woman 

your  church  and  work  have  thrilled  and  interested 
me.  I  have  never  heard  such  sermons  and  prayers 
as  yours.  You  give  to  the  old  faiths  new  and 
beautiful  meaning.  Every  word  you  have  spoken 
has  seemed  to  me  a  divine  call." 

"And  you  cannot  know  how  cheering  such  a 
message  is  to  me  to-night, "  he  thoughtfully  replied, 
studying  her  carefully. 

"I  never  could  summon  courage  to  come  up  and 
speak  to  you  before,  but  your  sermon  this  morning 
swept  me  off  my  feet.  It  was  so  simple,  so  heartfelt, 
so  sincere,  and  yet  so  close  in  its  touch  of  life,  I  felt 
that  you  had  opened  your  very  soul  for  me  to  see 
my  own  in  its  experiences.  It  will  be  a  turning 
point  in  my  life. " 

She  spoke  with  a  quiet  seriousness,  and  Gordon  felt 
that  he  had  never  seen  a  face  of  such  exquisite  grace. 

With  a  promise  that  he  would  call  to  see  her  within 
the  week,  she  left. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  her  name, 
"Miss  Kate  Ransom,"  on  the  card  she  gave  him, 
his  mind  aglow  with  the  consciousness  of  her  remark 
able  beauty,  the  famous  Kentucky  type,  and  yet  a 
distinct  variation. 

Her  figure  was  full  and  magnificent  in  the  ripe 
glory  of  youth,  a  delicate  face,  the  blonde's  colour, 
thick,  waving  auburn  hair  that  seemed  brown  till 
the  light  blazed  through  its  deep  red  tints:  violet- 
blue  eyes,  cordial  and  smiling,  at  once  mysterious, 
magic,  friendly,  gravely  candid.  Her  skin  was 


The  Man  and  the  Woman  n 

smooth  as  a  babe's,  with  the  delicate  creamy  satin 
of  the  blonde  flashing  the  scarlet  tints  of  every 
emotion.  Her  lips  were  cherry-red,  and  as  she 
listened  they  half  parted  with  a  lazy  suggestion  of 
tenderness  and  love;  while  the  face  was  one  of 
refined  mentality,  as  unconscious  as  a  child's  of  its 
splendid  beauty. 

Her  gait  was  proud  and  careless,  telling  of  perfect 
health  and  stores  of  untouched  vital  powers,  a 
movement  of  the  body  at  once  strong,  luxurious, 
insolently  languid,  rhythmic  and  full  of  dumb  music. 
It  was  when  she  moved  that  she  expressed  the  con 
sciousness  of  power,  a  gleam  of  cruelty,  a  challenge 
that  was  to  man  an  added  charm. 

"What  a  woman!"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  as  he 
drew  on  his  coat.  "The  kind  of  a  woman  who 
enraptures  the  senses,  drugs  the  brain  and  conscience 
of  the  man  who  responds  to  her  call — the  woman 
about  whom  men  have  never  been  able  to  compro 
mise,  but  have  always  killed  one  another  !" 

His  wife  opened  the  door  for  him  in  silence. 

"Who  was  that  woman,  Frank?"  she  asked  at 
length,  her  long,  dark  lashes  blinking  rapidly. 

"What  woman,  Ruth?" 

"The  beauty  I  saw  glide  softly  into  your  study." 

Gordon  smiled  as  he  sank  into  a  chair  in  the 
library. 

"Miss  Kate  Ransom,  a  stranger  I  never  met 
before." 


12  The  One  Woman 

"  You  seem  a  magnet  for  strange  women,  and  your 
church  their  Mecca. " 

"Yes,  and  strange  men.  God  knows  New  York, 
with  its  dead  and  deserted  churches,  needs  such  a 
Mecca." 

"  You  promised  to  call,  of  course  ?"  ' 

"Certainly;  it's  my  business.  The  Church  needs 
every  friend  and  every  dollar  to  be  had  on  Manhattan 
Island." 

"And  the  distinguished  young  pastor  of  the 
Pilgrim  Church  needs  the  smiles  of  all  beauti 
ful  women.  His  wife  is  a  little  faded  with 
worry  and  care  for  his  children,  while  crowds 
hang  on  his  eloquence  and  silly  women  sigh  into 
his  handsome  face.  Ah,  Frank,  before  we  came  to 
New  York  you  had  eyes  only  for  me.  The  city, 
the  crowd  and  the  flattery  of  fools  have  turned 
your  head.  You  are  letting  go  of  all  things  you 
once  held.  Now  the  Bible  is  'literature.'  You 
are  sighing  for  the  freedom  of  a  'larger  life.' 
Where  will  it  end?  I  wonder  if  you  have 
weighed  marriage  in  the  balances  and  found 
it  wanting?" 

Gordon  rose  with  a  sigh,  walked  slowly  to  the 
window  and  looked  down  on  the  city  lying  below. 
Their  little  home  was  perched  on  the  cliffs  of 
Washington  Heights. 

The  smile  had  died  from  his  handsome  face  and 
his  tall  figure  was  stooped  with  exhaustion.  He 
raised  one  hand  and  brushed  back  a  stray  lock  from 


The  Man  and  the  Woman  13 

his  forehead,  across  which  a  frown  had  slowly 
settled. 

"  By  all  means  keep  your  hair  adjusted, "  his  wife 
continued  sarcastically.  "The  women  are  all  in  love 
with  that  blond  hair.  And  it  is  so  effective  in  the 
pulpit.  If  you  were  not  six  feet  four  it  might 
be  effeminate,  but  I  assure  you  it  is  the  secret  of 
your  strength.  I  trust  you  will  be  wiser  than 
Samson." 

Gordon  smiled. 

"You  have  quit  the  old  faiths,"  she  continued 
rapidly,"  and  gone  to  preaching  *  Christian  Socialism.' 
You  have  driven  the  best  members  of  the  church 
away,  and  made  the  press  your  enemy.  That  mob 
which  hails  you  a  god  will  turn  and  curse  you.  You 
will  never  build  your  marble  dream  out  of  such 
stuff.  Both  your  sermons  to-day  will  make  your 
trustees  more  hostile.  There  was  no  Bible  in  them 
— only  personalities  and  rank  Socialism.  I  saw  that 
woman  in  front  of  me  drinking  it  all  in  as  the 
inspired  gospel." 

Gordon  winced  and  his  brow  clouded. 

"I  gave  up  everything  for  you — home,  talents, 
friends,"  she  went  on.  "  Now  that  I  am  thirty-one, 
it  is  the  new  face  that  charms." 

"You  did  give  up  a  very  particular  friend  for 
me,"  Gordon  remarked  teasingly.  "I  only  learned 
recently  that  you  were  once  engaged  to  Mr.  Morris 
King,  your  faithful  attorney,  and  that  you  threw 
him  over  for  an  athletic  parson  with  blond  hair  and 


14  The  One  Woman 

a  smile,  yet  I  have  never  chided  you  about  this 
little  secret.  Mr.  King  is  still  a  romantic  bachelor. 
He  has  not  been  initiated  into  the  joys  of  a  Sunday 
sermon  at  10  p.  M.,  with  his  wife  in  the  pulpit.  He 
has  much  to  live  for." 

Her  lips  quivered  and  her  eyes  grew  dim. 

"Come,  come,  my  dear;  you  know  that  I  love 
you  and  that  I  am  faithful  to  you.  But  such  words 
and  scenes  as  these  may  destroy  the  tenderest  love 
at  last.  Words,  even,  are  deeds." 

"  How  philosophical !  Quite  like  one  of  the 
epigrams  of  your  chum,  Mark  Overman,  of  whose 
cruel  tongue  you're  so  fond.  I  wonder  you  don't 
make  Mr.  Overman  a  deacon  in  the  new  order  of 
your  church." 

Gordon  sank  back  into  the  chair  and  thoughtfully 
shaded  his  brow  with  his  hand,  his  face  drawn  into 
deep  lines  of  weariness. 

When  she  saw  the  look  of  pain  in  his  face  her 
eyes  softened. 

"  What  I  fear  of  you,  Frank,  is  not  your  intention, 
but  your  performance.  You  mean  well,  but  you 
never  could  resist  a  pretty  woman." 

"In  a  sense,  no.  If  I  could,  I  never  would  have 
married." 

The  faintest  suggestion  of  a  smile  played  about 
her  eyes  and  then  faded. 

"I  wonder  what  pretty  speeches  you  said  to  the 
stranger  to-night?  You  have  such  charming  man 
ners  with  a  woman." 


The  Man  and  the  Woman  15 

He  looked  at  her  appealingly  and  she  stared  at 
him  without  reply. 

"For  God's  sake,  Ruth,  end  this  scene.  If  you 
only  knew  how  tired  I  am  to-night — tired  in  body, 
in  heart  and  soul.  I  think  the  past  week  has  been 
the  most  trying  of  my  whole  life.  It  opened  with  a 
newspaper  attack  on  me  inspired  by  Van  Meter. 
You  know  how  sensitive  I  am  to  such 
criticism. 

"Saturday  came  without  a  moment  for  prepa 
ration  for  the  great  crowds  I  knew  would  be 
present  to-day  after  that  attack  on  me.  Instead  of 
work  yesterday,  a  procession  of  people,  hungry  and 
suffering,  were  at  the  door  from  morning  until 
night.  All  their  burdens  they  poured  out  to  me. 
All  their  wrongs  and  grievances  against  God  and 
man  became  mine. 

"On  Saturday  night  the  trustee  meeting  was 
held  to  discuss  our  building  project.  Van  Meter 
led  the  opposition  with  skill.  When  I  poured 
out  my  soul's  dream  to  them  of  a  great  temple  of 
marble,  a  flaming  centre  of  Christian  Democracy 
instead  of  the  old  brick  barn  we  call  a  church — a 
temple  that  would  flash  its  glory  from  the  sky  above 
the  sordid  materialism  that  is  crushing  the  lives  and 
hearts  of  men,  telling  in  marble  song  of  God,  of 
immortality,  of  faith  and  hope  and  love — they 
stared  at  me  in  contempt  until  I  felt  the  blood 
freeze  in  my  veins.  When  I  drew  a  picture  of  its 
great  auditorium  thronged  with  thousands  of  eager 


1 6  The  One  Woman 

faces,  Van  Meter  coolly  interrupted  me  with  the 
remark : 

"'We  don't  want  such  trash  elbowing  our  old 
parishioners  out  of  their  pews.  We've  had  too 
much  of  it  already.  With  all  your  mob,  the  pew- 
rents  have  fallen  off.' 

"My  first  impulse  was  that  of  Christ  when  he 
took  a  whip  in  the  temple.  I  wanted  to  knock 
him  down.  Instead,  I  rushed  out  of  the  house  and 
left  him  victorious. 

"  I  waked  this  morning  with  the  burden  of  all  this 
week's  horror  choking  me,  waked  to  the  conscious 
ness  that  in  a  few  hours  thousands  of  faces  would 
be  looking  up  to  me  with  hungry  souls  to  be  fed. 
Well,  I  had  nothing  to  give  them  except  my  own 
heart's  blood,  and  so  to-day  I  tore  my  heart  open 
for  them  to  devour  it.  True,  I  didn't  preach  the 
Bible  except  as  its  truth  had  passed  into  my  own 
soul's  experiences.  When  I  preach  such  sermons  I 
always  quit  with  the  sense  of  utter  helplessness, 
exhaustion  and  failure.  Could  my  bitterest  enemy 
read  my  heart  in  that  hour  he  would  cry  out  for 
pity. 

"I  never  so  felt  the  crushing  burden  of  all  that 
:!  crowd  of  people  as  to-day.  I've  heard  so  much  of 
their  sorrows  and  struggles  the  past  week.  I  felt 
that  the  city  was  a  great  beast  in  some  vast  arena 
of  time,  that  I  was  alone,  naked  and  unarmed,  on 
the  sands,  struggling  with  it  for  the  life  of  the 
people,  while  my  enemies  looked  on.  As  never 


The  Man  and  the  Woman  17 

before  I  heard  the  rush  of  its  half -crazed  millions, 
its  crash  and  roar,  saw  its  fierce  brutality,  its  lust, 
its  cruelty,  its  senseless  scramble  for  pleasure,  its 
indifference  to  truth,  its  millions  of  to-day  but  a 
symbol  of  the  millions  gone  before  and  the  trampling 
millions  to  come,  and  I  felt  I  was  a  failure.  I  felt 
that  I  was  pitching  straws  against  a  hurricane,  only 
to  find  them  blown  back  into  my  face.  I  came 
down  out  of  that  pulpit  with  the  weariness  of  a 
thousand  years  crushing  my  tired  body  and  soul, 
feeling  that  I  could  never  speak  again,  or  struggle 
against  the  tide  any  more — that  I  was  broken, 
bruised  and  done  for  all  time,  and  I  came  home 
feeling  so " 

He  paused  a  moment  and  a  sigh  caught  his  voice. 
His  wife's  face  had  softened  and  a  tear  was 
quivering  on  her  long  eyelashes. 

"I  came  home  thus  worn  out  to-night  hoping  for 
a  word  of  cheer,  yet  knowing  it  would  be  days  before 
I  could  recover  from  the  sheer  nerve-agony  I  had 
endured.  What  a  reception  you  have  given  me  ! 
And  for  what?  A  beautiful  woman  stopped  to  tell 
me  my  message  had  not  been  in  vain,  that  it  had 
made  for  her  a  light  on  life's  way,  and  that  the 
prayers  in  which  I  had  tried  to  realise  as  my  own 
the  people's  thoughts  and  hopes  and  fears  had  been 
a  revelation  to  her,  and  because  I  smiled- " 

His  wife  was  again  staring  at  him  with  the 
glitter  of  jealousy.  He  saw  it  and  ceased  to 
speak. 


1 8  The  One  Woman 

He  suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked 
to  the  door.  Taking  down  his  hat  and  light  over 
coat  from  the  rack,  he  said  as  though  to  himself: 

"We  will  spend  the  night  under  different  roofs." 

As  he  passed  toward  the  door  there  was  a  faint 
cry  from  within  scarcely  louder  than  a  whisper, 
tense  with  agony  and  pitiful  in  its  pleading  accents : 

"Frank,  dear,  please  come  back!" 

But  when  she  summoned  strength  to  rush  to  the 
door,  crying  with  terror  she  had  never  known  before 
"Frank!  Frank!"  he  had  turned  the  corner  and 
disappeared. 


CHAPTER   II 

VISIONS  IN  THE  NIGHT 

GORDON  walked  rapidly  with  the  quick  stride  of 
the  trained  athlete.  Walking  was  a  pet  exercise. 

His  mind  was  now  in  a  whirl  of  fury.  He  had 
never  before  given  away  to  passion  in  a  quarrel 
with  his  wife.  They  had  been  married  twelve  years, 
and,  up  to  the  birth  of  their  boy,  four  years  before, 
had  lived  as  happily  as  possible  for  two  people  of 
strong  wills.  Discord  had  slowly  grown  as  his 
fame  increased.  His  wife  was  now  jealous  of  almost 
every  woman  who  spoke  to  him. 

They  had  quarreled  before,  but  he  had  always 
kept  a  clear  head  and  laughed  her  out  of  counte 
nance.  These  quarrels  had  ended  with  tears  and 
kisses  and  were  forgotten  until  the  next. 

To-night  somehow  every  thrust  found  his  most 
sensitive  spots.  He  wondered  why?  Dimly  con 
scious  of  a  curious  interest  in  the  woman  who  had 
spoken  so  sweetly  to  him  at  the  close  of  his  service, 
he  wondered  if  his  wife  divined  the  fact  by  some 
subtle  power  their  long  association  had  developed 
and  sharpened. 

His  enthusiasm  for  the  Socialistic  ideal  was  fast 


20  The  One  Woman 

becoming  an  absorbing  passion,  and  was  destined 
to  lead  him  into  strange  company. 

His  wife  felt  this,  resented  it,  and,  becoming  more 
and  more  conservative,  the  gulf  between  them  daily 
widened  and  deepened. 

He  cared  nothing  for  her  ridicule  of  his  blond 
locks.  He  wore  them  half  in  defiance  of  conven 
tionality  and  half  in  whimsical  love  for  the  picture 
of  a  beautiful  mother  from  whom  he  had  inherited 
them. 

"What  could  have  possessed  her  to-night?"  he 
slowly  muttered  as  he  emerged  from  Central  Park 
and  swung  into  Fifth  Avenue.  "Am  I  really  losing 
my  grasp  of  truth  because  I  am  giving  up  traditional 
dogmas?  Has  God  given  to  her  soul  the  power  to 
look  inside  my  heart  and  find  its  secret  thoughts? 
Why  does  she  keep  asking  me  if  I  have  lost  faith  in 
marriage  ?  Never  in  word  or  deed  have  I  hinted  at 
such  a  thing." 

And  yet  the  memory  of  that  beautiful  woman, 
with  a  voice  like  liquid  music,  friendly,  soothing, 
reassuring,  kept  echoing  through  his  soul. 

As  the  tumult  of  passion  died  in  the  glow  of  the 
walk  in  the  open  air  he  became  conscious  of  the  life 
of  the  city  again.  The  avenue  was  a  blaze  of  light. 
Its  miles  of  electric  torches  flashed  like  stars  in  the 
milky  way. 

He  passed  under  dozens  of  awnings  before  palatial 
homes  in  front  of  which  stood  lines  of  carriages. 
The  old  Dutch  and  English  ancestors  of  these  people 


Visions  in  the  Night  21 

were  once  faithful  observers  of  the  Sabbath.  Now 
they  went  to  church  in  the  mornings  as  a  form  of 
good  society  and  held  their  receptions  in  the 
evenings.  Some  of  them  employed  professional 
vaudeville  artists  to  enliven  their  Sunday  social 
bouts. 

New  York,  proud  imperial  Queen  of  the  Night, 
seemed  just  waking  to  her  real  life,  a  strange  new 
life  in  human  history — a  life  that  had  put  darkness 
to  flight,  snuffed  out  the  light  of  moon  and  star, 
laughed  at  sleep,  twin  sister  of  Death,  and  challenged 
the  soul  of  man  to  live  without  one  refuge  of  silence 
or  shadow. 

And  yet  the  warmth  and  glow,  the  splendour  and 
beauty  of  it  all  stirred  his  imagination  and  appealed 
to  his  love. 

At  length  he  stood  before  the  old  church  that  had 
been  the  arena  of  his  struggles  and  triumphs  for  the 
past  ten  years,  and  was  destined  to  be  for  him  the 
scene  of  a  drama  more  thrilling  than  any  he  had 
known  or  dreamed  in  the  past. 

He  passed  into  the  auditorium,  ascended  the 
pulpit,  and  sat  down  in  the  armchair  where  but  a  few 
hours  before  he  had  held  the  gaze  of  thousands. 
The  electric  lights  glimmering  through  the  windows 
of  the  gable  showed  the  empty  pews  in  sharp 
outline. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  know  when  they  go  they  some 
times  leave  my  soul  as  empty  and  as  lonely  as  those 
vacant  pews  ?  I  give,  give,  give  forever  of  thought, 


22  The  One  Woman 

sympathy  and  life  and  never  receive,  until  some 
times  my  heart  cries  to  a  passing  dog  for  help  ! 

"I'd  build  here  to  God  a  temple  whose  sheer 
beauty  and  glory  would  stop  every  huckster  on 
the  street,  lift  his  eyes  to  heaven  and  melt  his  soul 
into  tears.  It  must — it  shall  come  to  pass!" 

He  sat  there  for  nearly  two  hours,  dreaming  of  his 
plans  of  uplifting  the  city,  and  through  the  city  as  a 
centre  reaching  the  Nation  and  its  millions  with  pen 
and  tongue  of  fire.  Gradually  the  sense  of  isolation 
from  self  enveloped  him,  and  the  thought  of  human 
service  challenged  the  highest  reach  of  his  powers. 

He  opened  the  face  of  his  watch  and  felt  the  hands, 
a  habit  he  had  formed  of  telling  the  time  in  the  dark. 
It  was  one  o'clock. 

He  thought  of  his  wife  and  their  quarrel.  He  had 
forgotten  it  in  larger  thoughts,  and  his  heart  suddenly 
went  out  in  pity  to  her.  He  had  not  meant  what 
he  said.  He  loved  her  in  spite  of  all  harsh  words 
and  bitter  scenes.  She  was  the  mother  of  his  two 
lovely  children,  a  girl  of  ten  and  a  boy  of  four.  The 
idea  of  a  night  apart  from  her  life  and  theirs  came 
with  a  painful  shock.  He  felt  his  strength  and  was 
ashamed  that  he  had  left  her  so  cruelly.  He  hurried 
to  the  Twenty-third  Street  elevated  station  and 
boarded  a  car  for  his  home. 

When  his  wife  recovered  from  the  first  horror  of 
his  leaving  she  was  angry.  With  a  nervous  laugh 
she  went  into  the  nursery,  kissed  the  sleeping  chil- 


Visions  in  the  Night  23 

dren  and  went  to  bed.  She  tossed  the  first  hour, 
thinking  of  the  quarrel  and  many  sharp  thrusts  she 
might  have  given  him.  Perhaps  she  would  renew 
the  attack  when  he  came  in  and  attempted  to  make 
up. 

The  clock  struck  eleven  and  she  sprang  up, 
walked  to  her  window  and  looked  out. 

A  great  new  fear  began  to  brood  over  her  soul. 

"No,  no,  he  could  not  have  meant  it — he  is  not  a 
brute !"  she  cried,  as  she  began  to  nervously  clasp 
her  hands  and  turn  her  wedding  ring  over  and  over 
again  on  her  tapering  finger,  until  it  seemed  a  band 
of  fire  to  her  fevered  nerves. 

As  she  stood  by  the  window  in  her  scarlet  silk  robe 
she  made  a  sharp  contrast  in  person  to  the  woman 
whose  shadow  had  fallen  to-night  across  her  life. 
She  was  a  petite  brunette  of  distant  Spanish  ancestry, 
a  Spottswood  from  old  Tidewater  Virginia.  To  the 
tenderest  motherhood  she  combined  a  passionate 
temper  with  intense  jealousy.  The  anxious  face 
was  crowned  with  raven  hair.  Her  eyes  were  dark 
and  stormy,  and  so  large  that  in  their  shining  sur 
face  the  shadows  of  the  long  lashes  could  be  seen. 

Her  nature,  for  all  its  fiery  passions,  was  refined, 
shy  and  tremulous.  A  dimple  in  her  chin  and  a 
small  sensitive  mouth  gave  her  an  expression  at  once 
timid  and  childlike.  Her  footstep  had  feline  grace, 
delicacy  and  distinction.  She  had  a  figure  almost 
perfect,  erect,  lithe,  with  small  hands  and  feet  and 
tiny  wrists.  Her  voice  was  a  soft  contralto,  caress- 


24  The  One  Woman 

ing  and  full  of  feeling,  with  a  touch  of  the  languor 
and  delicate  sensuousness  of  the  Old  South.  About 
her  personality  there  was  a  haunting  charm,  vivid 
and  spiritual,  the  breath  of  a  soul  capable  of  the 
highest  heroism  if  once  aroused. 

At  twelve  o'clock  she  relighted  the  gas  and  went 
downstairs  to  stand  at  the  parlour  window  to  scan 
more  clearly  every  face  that  might  pass,  and — yes, 
she  would  be  honest  with  herself  now — to  spring 
into  his  arms  the  moment  he  entered,  smother  him 
with  kisses  and  beg  him  to  forgive  the  bitter  words 
she  had  spoken  in  anger. 

She  was  sure  he  would  come  in  a  moment.  He 
must  have  gone  on  one  of  his  long  walks.  She  could 
see  the  elevated  cars  on  their  long  trestle,  count  the 
stations,  and  guess  how  many  minutes  it  would 
take  him  to  climb  the  hill  and  rush  up  the  steps. 
Over  and  over  she  did  this,  and  now  it  was  one 
o'clock  and  he  had  not  come. 

What  if  he  had  been  stricken  suddenly  with 
mortal  illness !  His  face  had  looked  so  weary  and 
drawn.  She  began  to  cry  incoherently,  and  sank 
on  her  knees. 

"Lord,  forgive  me.  I  am  weak  and  selfish,  and  I 
was  wicked  to-night.  Hear  the  cry  of  my  heart. 
Bring  him  to  me  quickly,  or  I  shall  die  !" 

As  the  sobs  choked  her  into  silence  she  sprang  to 
her  feet,  both  hands  on  her  lips  to  keep  back  a 
scream  of  joy,  for  she  had  heard  his  footstep  on  the 
stoop. 


About  her  personality  there  was  a  haunting  charm     .  the 

breath  of  a  soul  capable  of  the  highest  heroism." 


Visions  in  the  Night  25 

The  latch  clicked,  and  he  was  in  the  hall. 

There  was  a  flash  of  red  silk  and  two  white  arms 
were  around  his  neck,  her  form  convulsed  with  a 
joy  she  could  not  control  or  try  to  conceal. 

He  soothed  her  as  a  child,  and,  as  he  kissed  her 
tenderly,  felt  her  lips  swollen  and  wet  with  the  salt 
tears  of  hours  of  weeping. 

"You  will  not  remember  the  foolish  things  I  said 
to-night,  dear?"  she  pleaded.  "There,  there,  I'll 
blot  them  out  with  kisses — one  for  every  harsh  word, 
and  one  more  for  love's  own  sake.  But  you  must 
promise  me,  Frank,  never  to  leave  me  like  that 
again."  A  sob  caught  her  voice,  and  her  head 
drooped. 

"You  may  curse  me,  strike  me,  do  anything  but 
that.  Oh,  the  loneliness,  the  agony  and  horror  of 
those  hours  when  I  realised  you  were  gone  in  anger 
and  might  not  come  back  to-night — dear,  it  was  too 
cruel.  Such  wild  thoughts  swept  my  heart !  You 
do  forgive  me?" 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

"Why  ask  it,  Ruth?" 

"I  know  I  am  selfish  and  fretful  and  wilful,"  she 
said,  with  a  sigh.  "I  was  only  a  spoiled  child  of 
nineteen  when  you  took  me  by  storm,  body  and 
soul.  You  remember,  on  our  wedding  day,  when  I 
looked  up  into  your  handsome  face  and  the  sense  of 
responsibility  and  joy  crushed  me  for  a  moment,  I 
cried  and  begged  you,  who  were  so  brave  and  strong, 
to  teach  me  if  I  should  fail  in  the  least  thing  ?  And 


26  The  One  Woman 

you  promised,  dear,  so  sweetly  and  tenderly.  Do 
you  remember?" 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  he  slowly  answered. 

"And  now,  somehow,  you  seem  to  have  drawn 
away  from  me  as  though  the  task  had  wearied  you. 
Come  back  closer  !  When  I  am  foolish  you  must  be 
wise.  You  can  make  of  me  what  you  will.  You 
'  know  I  am  afraid  of  this  Socialism.  It  seems  to 
open  gulfs  between  us.  You  read  and  read,  while  I 
can  only  wait  and  love.  You  cannot  know  the 
silent  agony  of  that  waiting  for  I  know  not  what 
tragedy  in  our  lives.  Frank,  teach  and  lead  me — 
I  will  follow.  I  love  you  with  a  love  that  is  death 
less.  If  you  will  be  a  Socialist,  make  me  one. 
Show  me  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  I've  thought 
marriage  meant  only  self -sacrifice  for  one's  beloved. 
I've  tried  to  give  my  very  life  to  you  and  the  chil 
dren.  If  I'm  making  a  mistake,  show  me." 

"I  will  try,  Ruth." 

She  ran  her  tapering  fingers  through  his  hair, 
smiled  and  sighed. 

"How  beautiful  you  are,  my  dear  !  I  know  it  is  a 
sin  to  love  any  man  so.  One  should  only  love  God 
like  this." 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  BANKER  AND  His  FAD 

WHEN  Gordon  woke  next  morning  from  a  fitful 
sleep  he  was  stupid  and  blue  and  had  a  headache. 
His  wife  had  not  slept  at  all,  but  was  cheerful, 
tender  and  solicitous. 

"Ruth,  I  can't  go  down  to  the  ministers'  meeting 
this  morning,"  he  said  wearily.  "I  must  take  a 
day  off  in  the  country.  I'll  lose  both  soul  and  body 
if  I  don't  take  one  day's  rest  in  seven.  I  didn't  tell 
you  last  night  that  I  came  near  fainting  in  the 
pulpit  during  the  evening  sermon." 

She  slipped  her  hand  in  his,  looking  up  reproach 
fully  at  him  out  of  her  dark  eyes. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that,  Frank?" 

"I  thought  you  had  enough  troubles  last  night. 
I'll  run  out  on  Long  Island  and  spend  the  day 
with  Overman.  You  needn't  frown.  You  are 
strangely  mistaken  in  him.  I  know  you  hate  his 
brutal  frankness,  and  he  is  anything  but  a  Christian, 
but  we  are  old  college  chums,  and  he's  the  clearest- 
headed  personal  friend  I  have.  I  need  his  advice 
about  my  fight  with  Van  Meter.  Overman  is  a 
venomous  critic  of  my  Social  dreams.  I've  often 

27 


28  The  One  Woman 

wondered  at  your  dislike  of  him,  when  he  so  thor 
oughly  echoes  your  feelings." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  gravely  said: 
"Take  a  good  day's  rest,  then,  and  come  back 
refreshed.  I'll  try  to  like  even  Mr.  Overman,  if  he 
will  help  you.  I'm  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf 
this  morning." 

He  laughed,  kissed  her  and  hurried  to  catch  the 
train  for  Babylon,  where  Overman  lived  in  his  great 
country  home. 

Mark  Overman  was  a  bacholer  of  forty,  noted  for 
the  fact  that  he  had  but  one  eye  and  was  so  homely 
it  was  a  joke.  His  friends  said  he  was  so  ugly  it 
was  fascinating,  and  he  was  constantly  laughing 
about  it  himself.  He  was  a  Wall  Street  banker, 
several  times  a  millionaire,  famed  for  his  wit,  his 
wide  reading,  his  brutally  cynical  views  of  society, 
and  his  ridicule  of  modern  philanthropy  and  Social 
istic  dreams. 

He  was  a  man  of  average  height  with  the  heavy- 
set,  bulldog  body,  face  and  neck,  broad,  powerful 
hands  and  big  feet.  He  had  an  enormous  nose, 
shaggy  eyebrows  and  a  bristling  black  moustache. 
But  the  one  striking  peculiarity  about  him  was  his 
missing  right  eye.  The  large  heavy  eyelid  was 
drooped  and  closed  tightly  over  the  sightless  socket, 
which  seemed  to  have  sunk  deep  into  his  head.  This 
cavern  on  one  side  of  his  face  gave  to  the  other  eye 
a  strange  power.  When  he  looked  at  you  it  gleamed 
a  fierce  steady  blaze  like  the  electric  headlight  of 


The  Banker  and  His  Fad  29 

an  engine.  How  he  lost  that  eye  was  a  secret  he 
guarded  with  grim  silence,  and  no  one  was  ever 
known  to  ask  him  twice. 

Though  five  years  older,  he  was  Gordon's  class 
mate  at  Wabash  College. 

Overman  had  always  scorned  the  suggestion  of  an 
artificial  eye.  He  swore  he  would  never  stick  a  piece 
of  glass  in  his  head  to  deceive  fools.  He  used  to 
tell  Gordon  that  he  was  the  only  one-eyed  man  in 
New  York  who  had  the  money  to  buy  a  glass  eye  and 
didn't  do  it. 

''I  prefer  life's  grim  little  joke  to  stand  as  it  is," 
he  said,  as  he  snapped  his  big  jaws  together  and 
twisted  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  into  a  sneer.  He 
had  a  habit,  when  he  closed  an  emphatic  speech,  of 
twisting  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  in  that  way. 
When  animated  in  talk  he  was  the  incarnation  of 
disobedience,  defiance,  scorn,  success. 

Two  things  he  held  in  special  pride — hatred  for 
women  and  a  passionate  love  for  game-cocks.  He 
allowed  no  woman  on  his  place  in  any  capacity,  and, 
by  the  sounds  day  and  night,  he  kept  at  least  a 
thousand  roosters.  He  would  drop  the  profoundest 
discussion  of  philosophy  or  economics  at  the  men 
tion  of  a  chicken,  and  with  a  tender  smile  plunge 
into  an  endless  eulogy  of  his  pets. 

Gordon  found  him  in  a  chicken  yard  fitting  gaffs 
on  two  cocks. 

"Caught  in  the  act !"  he  cried. 

"Well,  who  cares?     They've  got  to  fight  it  out. 


30  The  One  Woman 

It's  in  'em.  They're  full  brothers,  too.  Hatched 
the  same  day.  They  never  scrapped  in  their  lives 
till  yesterday,  when  I  brought  a  new  pullet  and  put 
her  in  the  neighbouring  yard.  They  both  tried  to 
make  love  to  her  through  the  wire  fence  at  the  same 
time,  and  they  were  so  busy  crowing  and  strutting 
and  showing  off  to  this  pullet  they  ran  into  each 
other  and  began  to  fight.  Now  one  must  die,  and 
I'm  just  fixing  these  little  steel  points  on  for  them 
so  the  function  can  be  performed  decently.  I'm  a 
man  of  fine  feelings." 

"  You're  a  brute  when  you  let  them  kill  one  another 
with  gaffs." 

"  Nonsense.  The  fighting  instinct  is  elemental  in 
all  animal  life — two-legged  and  four-legged.  Animals 
fight  as  inevitably  as  they  breathe.  You  can  trace 
the  progress  of  man  by  the  evolution  of  his  weapons 
— the  stone,  the  spear,  the  bow  and  arrow,  the 
sword,  the  gun." 

"Well,  you're  not  going  to  have  the  fight  this 
morning.  Put  up  those  inventions  of  the  devil  and 
come  into  the  house." 

"All  right.  You're  a  parson;  I'll  not  allow  them 
to  fight.  I'll  just  chop  the  head  off  of  one  and  let 
you  eat  him  for  dinner."  Overman  grinned,  and 
pierced  Gordon  with  his  gleaming  eye. 

"  It  would  be  more  sensible  than  the  exhibition  of 
brutality  you  were  preparing." 

"  Not  from  the  rooster's  point  of  view,  or  mine.  I 
love  chickens.  If  I  tried  to  eat  one  it  would  choke 


The  Banker  and  His  Fad  31 

me.  But  I  can  see  your  mouth  watering  now, 
looking  at  that  fat  young  pullet  over  there,  dreaming 
of  the  dinner  hour  when  you  expect  to  smash  her 
beautiful  white  breast  between  your  cannibal  jaws. 
Funny  men,  preachers !" 

Gordon  laughed.  ''After  all,  you  may  be  right. 
Our  deepest  culture  is  about  skin  deep.  Scratch 
any  of  us  with  the  right  tool  and  you'll  find  a 
savage." 

They  strolled  into  the  library  and  sat  down.  It 
was  the  largest  and  best-furnished  room  in  the 
house.  Its  lofty  ceiling  was  frescoed  in  sectional 
panels  by  a  great  artist.  Its  walls  were  covered  as 
high  as  the  arm  could  reach  with  loaded  book 
shelves,  and  alcove  doors  opened  every  ten  feet  into 
rooms  stored  with  special  treasures  of  subjects  on 
which  he  was  interested.  Masterpieces  of  painting 
hung  on  the  walls  over  the  cases,  while  luxurious 
chairs  and  lounges  in  heavy  leather  were 
scattered  about  the  room  among  the  tables, 
desks  and  filing  cabinets.  At  one  end  of  the 
room  blazed  an  open  wood  fire  of  cord  wood 
full  four  feet  in  length.  Beside  the  chimney 
windows  opened  with  entrancing  views  of  the 
Great  South  Bay  and  the  distant  beaches  of  Fire 
Island.  Across  the  huge  oak  mantel  he  had 
carved  the  sentence : 

"l  AM  AN  OLD  MAN  NOW,  I'VE  HAD  LOTS  OF 
TROUBLE,  AND  MOST  OF  IT  NEVER  HAPPENED." 


32  The  One  Woman 

"  Frank,  old  boy,  you  look  as  though  you  had  been 
pulled  through  a  small-sized  auger  hole  yesterday. 
How  is  the  work  going?" 

"All  right.  But  Van  Meter  puzzles  me.  I  want 
your  advice  about  him.  You've  come  in  contact 
with  him  in  Wall  Street  and  know  him.  He  is  the 
one  man  power  in  my  church — the  senior  deacon 
and  chairman  of  the  Board  of  Trustees  of  the 
Society.  In  spite  of  all  my  eloquence  and  the 
crowds  that  throng  the  building,  he  has  set  the 
whole  Board  against  me.  He  is  really  trying  to 
oust  me  from  the  pastorate  of  the  church.  Shall 
I  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  now  and  throw  him 
and  his  Mammon-worshiping  satellites  out,  or  try 
to  work  such  material  into  my  future  plans  ?  Give 
me  your  advice  as  a  cool-headed  outsider." 

Overman  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Well,  Frank,  now  you've  put  the  question 
squarely,  I'm  going  to  be  candid.  I'm  alarmed 
about  you.  The  strain  on  your  nerves  is  too  great. 
This  maggot  of  Socialism  in  your  brain  is  the 
trouble.  It  is  the  mark  of  mental  and  moral 
breakdown,  the  fleeing  from  self-reliant  individual 
life  into  the  herd  for  help.  You  call  it  'brother 
hood,'  the  'solidarity  of  the  race.'  Sentimental 
X  mush.  It's  a  stampede  back  to  the  animal  herd 
out  of  which  a  powerful  manhood  has  been 
evolved.  This  idea  is  destroying  your  will,  your 
brain,  your  religion,  and  will  finally  sap  the 
moral  fiber  of  your  character.  It  is  the  greatest 


The  Banker  and  His  Fad  33 

delusion  that  ever  bewildered  the  mind  of  poet  or 
sentimentalist." 

Gordon  grunted. 

"It's  funny  how  you  have  the  faculty  of  putting 
the  opposition  in  terms  of  its  last  absurdity." 

"Grunt  if  you  like;  I'm  in  dead  earnest.  You 
want  to  put  on  the  brakes.  You've  struck  the  down 
grade.  Socialism  takes  the  temper  out  of  the  steel 
fiber  of  character.  It  makes  a  man  flabby.  It  is 
the  earmark  of  racial  degeneracy.  The  man  of 
letters  who  is  poisoned  by  it  never  writes  another 
line  worth  reading;  the  preacher  who  tampers  with 
it  ends  a  materialist  or  atheist;  the  philanthropist 
bitten  by  it,  from  just  a  plain  fool,  develops  a  mad 
man;  while  the  home-builder  turns  free-lover  and 
rake  under  its  teachings." 

"You're  a  beauty  to  grieve  over  the  loss  to  the 
world  of  home-builders !"  Gordon  cried,  with  scorn. 

"  Maybe  my  grief  is  a  little  strained — but  really, 
Frank,  I  hate  women,  not  because  I  don't  feel  the 
need  of  their  love — 

He  drew  the  muscles  of  his  big  mouth  together 
and  looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window  with 
his  single  piercing  eye. 

"  No;  for  the  first  time  on  that  point  I'll  make  an 
honest,  clean  confession  to  you.  I  hate  women 
because  I'm  afraid  of  them.  I  have  a  face  that  can 
stop  an  eight-day  clock  if  I  look  at  it  hard  enough; 
and  yet  beneath  this  hideous  mask  there's  a  poor 
coward's  soul  that  worships  beauty  and  hungers  for 


34  The  One  Woman 

love !  I  don't  allow  women  in  this  house  because  I 
can't  stand  the  rustle  of  their  drapery.  I  don't 
want  one  of  them  to  get  her  claws  into  me.  They 
can  see  through  me  in  a  minute.  Women  have  an 
X-ray  in  their  eyes.  They  can  look  through  a 
brick  wall,  without  going  to  see  what's  on  the  other 
side.  A  man  learns  a  thing  is  true  by  a  painful 
process  of  reasoning.  A  woman  knows  a  thing  is 
so — because!  She  knows  it  thoroughly,  too,  from 
top  to  bottom.  Whenever  a  woman  looks  at  me 
I  can  feel  her  taking  an  X-ray  photograph  of  the 
marrow  of  my  bones." 

He  wheeled  suddenly  and  fixed  his  eye  on  Gordon. 

' '  I'll  bet  you  had  another  quarrel  with  your 
wife  last  night?" 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Tell  by  your  hangdog  look.  You  look  like  an 
old  Shanghai  rooster  that  a  little  game-cock  has 
knocked  down  and  trampled  on  for  half  an  hour 
before  letting  him  up." 

"We  did  have  some  words." 

' '  Exactly ;  and  I  can  tell  you  what  about.  Your 
wife  is  growing  more  nervous  over  the  tendency  of 
your  religion  and  your  thinking.  You  can't  fool 
her  about  it.  She  knows  you  are  drifting  where  she 
can  never  follow.  She  knows  instinctively  that 
Socialism  is  the  return  to  the  animal  herd  and  that 
the  family  will  be  trampled  to  death  beneath  its 
hoofs." 

"Come,   Mark,   you're  crazy.     The   Brotherhood 


The  Banker  and  His  Fad  35 

of  Man  and  the  Solidarity  of  the  Race  can  have  such 
meaning  only  to  a  lunatic." 

"Don't  you  know  that  the  triumph  of  Socialism 
.will  destroy  the  monogamic  family?"  Overman 
asked  sharply. 

"Rubbish." 

"Strange,  how  you  sentimentalists  slop  over 
things.  You  have  allowed  second-hand  Socialistic 
catch  words  to  change  your  methods  of  work  and 
thought  and  revolutionize  your  character,  and  yet 
you  have  never  seriously  tried  to  go  to  the  bottom 
of  it.  Come  into  this  room  a  minute." 

They  went  into  an  alcove  room. 

"Here  I  have  more  than  a  thousand  volumes  of 
Socialistic  literature.  I've  read  it  all  with  more 
or  less  thoroughness.  When  I  look  at  the  titles 
of  these  books  I  feel  as  though  I've  eaten  tons  of 
sawdust.  You  are  preaching  this  stuff  as  the  gospel, 
and  yet  you  don't  know  what  your  masters  are 
really  trying  to  do." 

"  I  know  that  there  can  be  no  true  home  life  until 
the  shadow  of  want  has  been  lifted,"  said  the 
preacher  emphatically.  "The  aim  of  Socialism  is 
to  bring  to  pass  this  dream  of  heaven  on 
earth." 

"Just  so.  But  you've  never  defined  what  the 
dream  will  be  like  when  it  comes.  Your  masters 
have.  Let  me  read  some  choice  bits  to  you  from 
these  big-brained,  clear-eyed  men  who  created  your 
movement.  I  like  these  men  because  they  scorn 


36  The  One  Woman 

humbug.  Defiance,  disobedience,  contempt  for  the 
thing  that  is,  consumes  them." 

He  drew  from  the  shelves  a  lot  of  books,  threw 
them  on  a  table,  and  took  up  a  volume. 

"This  from  Fourier:  'Monogamy  and  private 
property  are  the  main  characteristics  of  Civilisation. 
They  are  the  breastworks  behind  which  the  army 
of  the  rich  crouch  and  from  which  they  sally  to  rob 
the  poor.  The  individual  family  is  the  unit  of  all 
faulty  societies  divided  by  opposing  interests.' 

"And  this  choice  bit  from  William  Morris :  '  Mar 
riage  under  existing  conditions  is  absurd.  The 
family,  about  which  so  much  twaddle  is  talked,  is 
hateful.  A  new  development  of  the  family  will 
take  place,  as  the  basis  not  of  a  predetermined  life 
long  business  arrangement  to  be  formally  held  to 
irrespective  of  conditions,  but  on  mutual  inclination 
and  affection,  an  association  terminable  at  the  will 
of  either  party."1 

Overman  fixed  his  eye  on  Gordon  for  a  moment, 
laid  his  hand  on  his  arm  and  asked : 

"Now,  honestly,  Frank,  confess  to  me  you  never 
read  one  of  those  sentences  in  your  life?" 

"No,  I  never  did." 

"  I  was  sure  of  it.  Listen  again ;  this  from  Robert 
Owen:  'In  the  new  Moral  World  the  irrational 
names  of  husband,  wife,  parent  and  child  will  be 
heard  no  more.  Children  will  undoubtedly  be  the 
property  of  the  whole  community.' 

' '  But  perhaps  the  idea  has  been  best  expressed  by 


The  Banker  and  His  Fad  37 

Mr.  Grant  Allen.  Hear  his  clean-cut  statement: 
'No  man,  indeed,  is  truly  civilised  till  he  can  say  in  all 
sincerity  to  every  woman  of  all  the  women  he  loves, 
to  every  woman  of  all  the  women  who  love  him: 
"Give  me  what  you  can  of  your  love  and  yourself; 
but  never  strive  for  my  sake  to  deny  any  love,  to 
strangle  any  impulse  that  pants  for  breath  within 
you.  Give  me  what  you  can,  while  you  can,  without 
grudging,  but  the  moment  you  feel  you  love  me  no 
more,  don't  do  injustice  to  your  own  prospective 
children  by  giving  them  a  father  whom  you  no  longer 
respect,  or  admire,  or  yearn  for."  When  men  and 
women  can  both  alike  say  this,  the  world  will  be 
civilised.  Until  they  can  say  it  truly,  the  world 
will  be  as  now,  a  jarring  battle-field  of  monopolist 
instincts.' 

"Then  this  gem  from  another  of  the  frousy- 
headed — Karl  Pearson :  '  In  a  Socialist  form  of  gov 
ernment  the  sex  relation  would  vary  according  to 
the  feelings  and  wants  of  individuals/ 

"  Observe  in  all  these  long-haired  philosophers  how   I — 
closely  the  idea  of  private  property  is  linked  with  the 
family.     That  is  why  the  moment  you  attack  private 
property  in  your  pulpit  your  wife  knows  instinc-    -t> 
tively  that  you  are  attacking  the  basis  of  her  life  and 
home.     Private  property  had  its  origin  in  the  family. 
The  family  is  the  source  of  all  monopolistic  instincts, 
and  your  reign  of  moonshine  brotherhood  can  never 
be  brought  to  pass  until  you  destroy  monogamic 
marriage." 


38  The  One  Woman 

"  But  my  dream  is  of  an  ideal  marriage  and  home 
life,"  cried  the  preacher. 

"  Yes,  and  that  is  why  you  make  me  furious.  You 
don't  know  the  origin  or  meaning  of  this  Socialistic* 
dream  and  yet  you  are  preaching  it  every  Sunday, 
inflaming  the  minds  of  that  crowd.  I  don't  blame 
your  wife.  She  sees  in  her  soul  the  rock  on  which 
you  must  wreck  your  ship  sooner  or  later.  The  herd 
and  the  mating  pair  cannot  co-exist  as  dominant 
forces.  This  is  why  Socialism  never  converts  a 
woman  except  through  some  individual  man. 
Woman's  maternal  instinct  created  monogamic 
marriage.  The  only  women  who  become  Socialists 
directly  are  the  sexless,  the  defectives  and  the  over 
sexed,  who  can  always  be  depended  on  to  make  the 
herd  a  lively  place  for  its  fighting  male  members. 
What  have  you  to  say  to  this  ? " 

Overman  turned  his  head  sideways  and  pierced 
Gordon  again  with  his  single  eye. 

"Well,  I  confess  you've  given  me  something  to 
think  about,  and  I'm  going  to  the  bottom  of  the 
subject.  You've  opened  vistas  of  great  ideas.  It's 
the  question  of  the  century,  the  thought  that  is 
sweeping  life  before  it.  While  I've  been  listening  to 
you,  more  and  more  I've  seen  the  need  of  consecra 
tion  to  the  leading  and  teaching  of  the  people  who 
are  being  swept  by  millions  into  this  movement. 
But  you  haven't  told  me  what  to  do  with 
Van  Meter." 

"  Yes,  I  have.     The  trouble,  I  tell  you,  is  with  you, 


The  Banker  and  His  Fad  39 

not  Van  Meter.  He's  a  little  man,  but  he's  just  the 
size  of  a  deacon  in  a  modern  church  in  New  York. 
Win  him  over  and  work  with  him.  He's  your  only 
hope.  Van  Meter  knows  his  business  as  a  deacon 
and  trustee.  You  are  off  the  track. " 

"But  how  can  I  ever  reconcile  Van  Meter's  com 
mercialism  with  any  living  religion?" 

Overman  frowned  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Religion  ?  Man,  you  haven't  religion  !  Religion 
is  the  worship  of  a  Superior  Being,  fear  of  His  power, 
submission  to  His  commands,  inability  to  discuss 
theoretically  the  formulas  of  faith,  the  desire  to 
spread  the  faith,  and  the  habit  of  considering  as 
enemies  all  who  do  not  accept  it.  You  can't  pass 
examination  on  any  of  these  points.  Your  idea  of 
God  is  the  First  Cause.  You  do  not  really  worship  or 
fear  anything.  You  submit  blindly  to  nothing. 
You  have  written  an  interrogation  point  before  every 
dogma.  You  have  ceased  to  be  missionary  and 
become  humanitarian.  As  a  priest  you're  a  joke. 
Van  Meter  is  a  better  deacon  than  you  are  a  priest.  I 
don't  blame  him.  He  must  put  you  out,  or  be 
put  out  of  business  sooner  or  later.  Your  passion 
for  reforming  the  world,  your  'enthusiasm  for 
humanity,'  are  things  apart  from  worship  and 
absolutely  antagonistic  to  it." 

" But  not  antagonistic  to  the  mission  of  Christ."       + 

"Granted.     But  the  Christianity  of  Christ  is  one    ^ 
thing  and  modern  Christianity  another  thing.     The 
ancient    Church,    you    must    remember,    absorbed 


40  The  One  Woman 

Paganism.  Van  Meter's  religion  is,  I  grant  you,  a 
pretty  stiff  mixture  of  Paganism  and  Christianity, 
but  historically  he  is  in  line  with,  the  Church  and 
you  are  out  of  line  with  it.  I'd  do  one  of  two 
things — use  Van  Meter  for  all  he  is  worth,  or  get 
out  of  his  church  and  let  him  alone.  It's  his.  He 
and  his  kind  built  it.  You  are  an  interloper." 

"  Perhaps  so,  "  Gordon  mused. 

' '  You  know  my  opinion  of  your  dream  of  social 
salvation.  I  say  let  the  fit  survive  and  the  weak  go 
to  the  wall.  If  you  could  save  all  the  floating  trash 
that  so  moves  your  pity,  you  would  only  lower  the 
standard  of  humanity.  Hell  is  the  furnace  made  to 
consume  such  worthless  rubbish.  You  are  even 
apologising  for  hell  because  you  can't  stand  the 
odour  of  burning  flesh.  I  like  the  old  God  of  Israel 
better  than  the  ghost  you  moderns  have  set  up. 
Honestly,  Frank,  you  have  never  treated  Van  Meter 
decently.  He's  ^a  small  man,  but  he  is  in  dead 
earnest,  and  he  is  historically  a  Christian.  I  don't 
know  what  the  devil  you  are,  and  I  don't  believe  you 
know  yourseif.  Go  to  Van  Meter,  have  a  plain 
business  talk  with  him,  and  see  if  you  can't  come 
to  an  understanding. " 

"  That's  the  only  sensible  thing  you've  said  to  me." 

"And  the  only  immoral  thing;  for  if  you  and  Van 
Meter  ever  agree  you  will  both  do  some  tall  lying. " 

"I  think  I'll  take  your  advice  and  see  him,  any 
how." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SHORTHORN  DEACON 

GORDON  and  Overman  came  into  town  on  the  four 
o'clock  express.  They  sat  down  in  opposite  seats 
near  the  centre  of  the  car. 

Neither  of  them  noticed  Van  Meter,  who  also  lived 
at  Babylon  in  the  summer,  board  the  train  as  it 
pulled  out  of  the  station.  He  was  a  pompous  little 
man,  short  and  red-faced,  with  gray  side  whiskers 
and  bald  head.  His  eyes  were  sharp  and  beady 
and  shined  like  shoe-buttons.  Piety  and  thrift  were 
written  all  over  him.  As  a  deacon  he  passed  the 
bread  and  wine  at  the  Lord's  Table  on  Sunday,  with 
his  black  eyes  half  closed,  dreaming  of  cornering  the 
bread  market  of  the  world  on  Mqnday.  For  him 
New  York  was  the  centre  of  the  universe,  and  the 
Stock  Exchange  was  the  centre  of  New  York.  The 
rest  of  this  earth  was  provincial,  tributary  soil.  He 
had  gone  abroad,  but  rarely  ventured  beyond 
Philadelphia  or  Coney  Island  on  this  side.  He 
was  the  presiding  officer  of  the  Stock  Exchange  and 
the  President  of  the  Metropolitan  Bible  and  Tract 
Society.  He  took  himself  very  seriously. 

As  they  got  out  of  the  car  at  Long  Island  City, 
Gordon  said  to  him: 


42  The  One  Woman 

"Deacon,  I  wish  to  have  a  talk  with  you  to 
morrow.  Shall  I  call  at  your  home  or  office  ?" 

"Come  down  to  the  office  at  two  o'clock;  I'll  be 
out  at  night, ' '  Van  Meter  answered  briskly. 

The  next  day  Gordon  walked  from  the  church 
down  Fourth  Avenue  to  Union  Square  and  down 
Broadway  to  the  Battery.  It  was  a  glorious  day  in 
early  spring.  The  air  had  in  it  yet  the  cool  breath 
of  winter,  but  the  electric  thrill  of  coming  life  was  in 
the  soft  breezes  that  came  from  the  South,  where 
flowers  were  already  blooming  and  birds  singing. 
The  hucksters  were  selling  sweet  violets  and  the  cry 
of  the  strawberry  man  echoed  along  the  side  streets. 

Fourth  Avenue  was  piled  with  builders'  material. 
The  old  brick  homes  were  crumbling  and  steel-ribbed 
monsters  climbing  into  the  sky  from  their  sites. 

"Progress  everywhere  but  in  the  churches," 
muttered  Gordon.  "The  Church  alone  seems  dead 
in  New  York." 

Broadway  was  one  vast  river  of  humanity.  As 
far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  throng  engulfed  the 
pavements  and  overflowed  into  the  streets  between 
the  curbs,  mingling  with  the  mass  of  cars,  cabs, 
trucks  and  wagons.  On  either  side  towered  the 
interminable  miles  of  business  houses  whose  nerves 
and  arteries  reach  to  the  limits  of  the  known  world, 
savage  and  civilised.  Behind  those  fronts  sat  the 
engineers  of  industry  with  their  hands  on  the  throt 
tles  of  the  world's  machinery,  their  keen  eyes  and 


The  Shorthorn  Deacon  43 

ears  alert  to  every  sound  of  danger  in  the  ceaseless 
roar  around  them. 

Shadowy  and  far  away  seemed  the  Spirit  world 
from  those  hurrying,  rushing,  cursing,  struggling 
men.  And  yet  the  earth  was  quivering  beneath 
them  with  the  shock  of  spiritual  forces.  The  age 
of  miracles  was  only  dawning. 

He  felt  like  climbing  to  the  tower  of  one  of  those 
great  temples  of  trade  and  shouting  to  the  throng  to 
lift  up  their  heads  from  the  stones  below  and  beyond 
the  line  of  towering  steel  and  granite  see  the  Glory 
of  God.  And  as  he  thought  how  little  that  crowd* 
would  heed  it  if  he  did,  he  felt  himself  in  the  grip  of 
Titanic  forces  of  Nature  sweeping  through  time  and 
eternity,  and  that  he  was  but  an  atom  tossed  by 
their  fury. 

As  he  passed  the  City  Hall  his  eye  rested  on  the 
towering  castles  of  the  metropolitan  newspapers. 
He  could  feel  in  the  air  the  throb  of  their  presses, 
the  whir  of  their  wheels  within  wheels  telling  the 
story  of  a  day's  life,  wet  with  tears  of  hope  and  love, 
or  poisoned  with  slander  and  falsehood,  their 
minarets  and  domes  the  flaming  signs  in  the  sky 
of  a  new  power  in  history,  a  menace  to  the  life  of 
the  ancient  Church  and  its  priesthood.  Was  this 
power  a  threat  to  human  liberty,  or  the  highest 
expression  of  its  hope  ?  Only  the  future  would  reveal. 
What  silent  forces  crouched  behind  those  towers 
with  their  throbbing  cylinders  the  world  could  only 
guess  as  yet. 


44  The  One  Woman 

He  walked  past  old  Castle  Garden  where  so  many 
weary  feet  have  landed  and  found  hope. 

His  heart  filled  with  patriotic  pride.  Far  out  in 
the  harbour  stood  Liberty  Enlightening  the  World, 
lifting  her  torch  among  the  stars,  her  face  calm  and 
majestic,  gazing  serenely  out  to  sea. 

"Land  of  faith  and  hope — my  country !"  he  ex 
claimed.  ''Here  the  commonest  man  has  risen 
from  the  dust  and  proved  himself  a  king.  Home 
of  the  broken-hearted,  the  tyrant-cursed,  the  bruised, 
the  oppressed,  within  thy  magic  gates  the  miracle 
of  life  has  been  renewed !" 

He  looked  out  on  the  great  emerald  harbour 
gleaming  in  the  sunlight,  its  sky-line  white  with 
clouds  and  penciled  with  the  pennant-tipped  masts 
of  a  thousand  ships  flying  the  flags  of  every  nation 
of  the  earth.  His  soul  was  flooded  again  with  the 
*•'  sense  of  the  city's  imperial  splendour,  stretching 
out  her  hand  to  grasp  the  financial  scepter  of  the 
world,  already  the  second  city  of  the  earth,  a  king 
dom  mightier  than  Caesar  ruled  and  richer  than 
Croesus  dreamed. 

He  came  back  to  Wall  Street,  and,  as  he  turned 
into  the  narrow  lane,  felt  its  power  shadow  his 
imagination. 

"After  all,"  he  muttered,  "Van  Meter  is  not  far 
wrong  in  his  idea  of  the  omnipotence  of  this  street." 

The  Deacon's  office  was  plainly  furnished.  He 
was  seated  at  an  old-fashioned  mahogany  desk, 
evidently  a  relic  of  his  Knickerbocker  past.  Born 


The  Shorthorn  Deacon  45 

in  New  York  sixty  years  before,  he  was  popularly 
reckoned  a  multimillionaire,  though  his  wealth  was 
overestimated.  Compared  to  the  big-brained,  eagle- 
eyed  men  who  had  come  from  the  West  and  mastered 
Wall  Street,  Van  Meter  was  really  a  pygmy. 

He  greeted  Gordon  politely. 

" Delighted  to  welcome  you,  Doctor,  to  my  office. 
This  is  the  first  call  you  have  ever  honoured  me 
with  downtown." 

''I've  been  to  your  home  often,  Deacon." 

"But  somehow  you've  always  been  shy  of  Wall 
Street,"  said  Van  Meter,  expansively.  "I  suppose 
you  look  on  us  down  here  somewhat  as  the  old- 
time  preacher  regarded  the  saloon-keeper.  You 
should  know  us  better.  This  alley  is  the  jugular 
vein  of  the  nation,  and  the  Stock  Exchange  its 
heart.  We  have  a  President  and  Congress  at 
Washington,  and  some  very  handsome  buildings 
there.  It  is  supposed  to  be  the  capital  of  the 
republic.  A  political  myth !  Here  is  the  capital. 
The  money  centre  is  the  seat  of  government.  The 
Southern  Confederacy  failed,  not  for  lack  of  soldiers 
or  generals  of  military  genius,  but  because  it  had 
no  money." 

Van  Meter's  stature  grew  taller  and  his  eyes  larger 
as  Gordon  felt  the  truth  of  his  words. 

4 'Well,  Deacon,  I  wish  to  know  you  better.  I'm 
afraid  I've  not  always  been  fair  to  you  as  the  senior 
officer  of  the  church  and  one  of  its  oldest  members." 

"I  haven't  worried  over  it,"  he  replied  quickly. 


46  The  One  Woman 

"I  know  you  in  your  home  life,"  Gordon  con 
tinued.  "You  are  a  faithful  and  tender  husband 
and  father.  If  you  were  to  die  to-morrow,  your 
servants  would  stand  sobbing  at  the  doorway  when 
I  entered.  You  are  one  of  the  kindest  men  in  your 
individual  life." 

"Thanks.  I  hardly  thought  you  would  say  so 
much." 

"Then  you  have  misjudged  me.  The  only  criti 
cism  I've  ever  made  of  you  has  been  as  a  part  of 
our  social  and  economic  order.  This  is  a  question, 
it  seems  to  me,  we  might  differ  about  and  still  be 
friends.  Now,  I  wish  you  to  tell  me  honestly,  face 
to  face,  why  you  object  to  me  as  the  pastor  of  your 
church?" 

"You  wish  me  to  be  perfectly  frank?"  he  asked, 
with  his  black  eyes  twinkling. 

"Perfectly  so.  You  couldn't  say  anything  that 
would  anger  me.  I  am  too  much  in  earnest." 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  you  don't  preach  the  simple 
gospel." 

"No;  but  I  do  preach  the  gospel  of  Christ." 

"Your  reference  to  the  strike  amongst  the  women 
-;'  shirt-makers  in  New  York  drove  one  of  the  richest 
men  out  of  our  church." 

"Yes;  I  saw  him  jump  up  and  go  out  during  the 
service.  The  women  were  making  shirts  for  his 
house  at  thirty-five  cents  a  dozen,  finding  their  own 
thread  and  using  their  own  machines.  I  said  if  I 
found  one  of  those  shirts  in  my  house  I'd  put  it  in 


The  Shorthorn  Deacon  47 

the  fire  with  a  pair  of  tongs,  and  I  would.  I'd  be 
afraid  to  touch  a  seam  lest  I  felt  the  throb  of  a 
woman's  bruised  fingers  in  it." 

The  Deacon  softly  stroked  his  whiskers. 

' '  It  was  an  unfortunate  remark.  He  contributed 
$500  a  year  to  the  church.  He  has  gone  where  the 
simple  gospel  of  Christ  is  preached." 

''Yes,  so  simple  that  he  can  sleep  through  it  and 
know  that  it  will  never  touch  his  life,"  Gordon 
said  with  a  sneer.  "What's  the  use  to  talk  about 
a  mustard  plaster  ?  I, say  apply  it  to  the  place  that 
hurts." 

"You  preach  Evolution.  I  don't  like  the  idea 
that  man  is  descended  from  a  monkey." 

"The  weight  of  scholarship  sustains  the  theory." 

"Well,  my  idea  is,  if  it's  true,  the  less  said  about 
it  the  better.  And  then  you  lack  dignity  out  of  the 
pulpit." 

"Even  so,  Deacon,  the  most  dignified  man  I  ever 
saw  was  a  dead  man — a  dead  New  Yorker.  What 
we  need  in  the  church  is  life." 

"But  you  have  departed  from  the  faith  of  our 
fathers." 

"Perhaps,"  Gordon  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "if  you  mean  our  famous  fathers  who 
'landed  first  on  their  knees  and  then  on  the 
aborigines.' ' 

Van  Meter  ignored  the  remark. 

"You  said  one  day  that  in  America  we  had  but 
two  classes,  the  masses  and  the  asses.  That 


48  The  One  Woman 

sentence  cost  the  church  a  thousand  dollars  in 
pew-rents.  I  think  such  assertions  blasphemous." 

"Well,  it's  true." 

"I  don't  think  so;  and  if  it  were,  it  don't  pay  to 
say  such  things.'* 

"Am  I  only  to  preach  the  truths  that  pay?" 

"We  hired  you  to  preach  the  simple  gospel  of 
Christ." 

"Pardon  me,  Deacon;  I  am  not  your  hired  man. 
I  chose  this  church  as  the  instrument  through  which 
I  could  best  give  my  message  to  the  world.  I 
answer  to  God,  not  to  you.  The  salary 
you  pay  me  is  not  the  wage  of  a  hireling.  My 
support  comes  from  the  free  offerings  laid  on 
God's  altar." 

"We  call  them  pew-rents.  You  are  trying  to 
abolish  this  system,  as  old  as  our  life,  and  allow  a 
mob  of  strangers  to  push  and  crowd  our  old  members 
out  of  their  pews." 

"  I  believe  the  system  of  renting  pews  un-Christian 
and  immoral — a  mark  of  social  caste." 

"And  that's  why  I  think  you're  a  little  crazy. 
Even  your  best  friends  say  you're  daft  on  some 
things." 

"So  did  Christ's." 

The  Deacon's  face  clouded  and  his  black  eyes 
flashed. 

"From  denouncing  private  pews  you  have  begun 
to  denounce  private  property.  Our  church  is 
becoming  a  Socialist  rendezvous  and  you  a  firebrand. 


The  Shorthorn  Deacon  49 

We  are  living  in  a  sensitive  age.  One  step  more 
and  you  are  an  Anarchist." 

"Deacon,  you  have  allowed  your  commercial 
habits  to  master  your  thinking,  your  religion  and 
your  character.  In  your  home  you  are  a  good  man. 
In  Wall  Street,"  he  smiled,  "pardon  me,  you  are 
a  highwayman,  and  you  carry  the  ideals  and  methods 
of  the  Street  into  your  duties  as  a  churchman." 

"  Pretty  far  apart  for  a  pastor  and  deacon,  then, 
don't  you  think?" 

"You  ran  the  preacher  away  who  preceded  me, 
too,"  mused  Gordon. 

The  Deacon's  eyes  danced  at  this  acknowledg 
ment  of  his  power. 

"He  was  a  little  slow  for  New  York.  You  are 
rather  swift." 

Gordon  rose  and  looked  down  good-naturedly  on 
the  shining  bald  head  as  he  took  his  leave. 

"I  suppose  we  will  have  to  fight  it  out?" 

"It  looks  that  way.  My  kindest  regards  to 
Mrs.  Gordon." 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  CRY  OF  THE  CITY 

KATE  RANSOM  entered  the  church  with  enthusi 
asm.  Even  Van  Meter,  learning  that  she  lived  on 
Gramercy  Park  and  was  a  woman  of  wealth,  con 
gratulated  Gordon  on  the  event. 

She  organized  a  working-girls'  club  and  became 
its  presiding  genius.  Her  beauty  and  genial  ways 
won  every  girl  with  whom  she  came  in  contact. 
Her  club  became  at  once  a  force  in  Gordon's  work, 
absolutely  loyal  to  his  slightest  wish.  She  formed 
a  corps  of  visitors  and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  help 
in  his  pastoral  work. 

"Before  we  begin,"  she  said,  "let  me  be  your 
assistant  for  a  day.  I  wish  to  see  the  city  as  you 
see  it,  that  I  can  direct  my  girls  with  intelligence." 

On  the  day  fixed  she  acted  as  usher  for  his  callers 
at  the  church. 

The  President  of  his  boys'  club  was  admitted  first 
to  tell  him  a  saloon  had  been  opened  next  door  to 
their  building  in  spite  of  their  protest  to  the  Board 
of  Excise. 

Gordon  frowned. 

"  It's  no  use  to  waste  breath  on  the  Board.  They 
know  that  saloon  is  within  the  forbidden  number 


The  Cry  of  the  City  51 

of  feet  from  our  church.  But  as  the  Governor  of 
New  York  has  recently  said,  'Give  me  the  vote  of 
-the  saloons;  I  don't  mind  the  churches,'  go  down 
to  this  lawyer  and  tell  him  to  insist  on  an  indictment 
of  Crook,  the  Chairman  of  the  Board,  for  the  viola 
tion  of  his  oath  of  office." 

"It's  no  use,  sir,"  said  Anderson,  his  assistant. 
"  I've  been  to  see  him.  He  tells  me  there  were  three 
indictments  for  penitentiary  offenses  pending  against 
Crook  when  the  Mayor  promoted  him  to  be  Chairman 
of  the  Board.  Three  courts  have  pronounced  him 
guilty,  but  the  new  Legislature  is  going  to  pass  an 
ex-post  facto  law  to  relieve  him  of  his  term  in  prison." 

''Then  try  him  with  one  more  indictment  and 
include  the  whole  Board  of  Excise  this  time.  We 
will  let  them  know  we  are  alive." 

Kate  ushered  in  a  slatternly  little  woman,  dirty, 
ugly,  cross-eyed  and  her  face  red  from  weeping. 

"Please,  Doctor,  come  quick.  They've  got  Dan. 
They  knocked  him  in  the  head,  dragged  him  down 
the  stairs  and  flung  him  in  the  wagon.  He's  in 
jail,  and  they  say  they'll  have  him  in  Sing  Sing  in  a 
week.  He  ain't  done  a  thing.  You're  the  only 
friend  we've  got  in  the  world." 

"On  what  charge  did  they  arrest  him,  Mrs. 
Hogan?" 

"Just  a  lot  o'  policemen  charged  on  him  with 
billies !" 

"  But  why  did  they  do  it  ?" 

"It's  the   policeman   on  the  beat   who's   got   a 


52  The  One  Woman 

grudge  agin  him.  He  swore  he'd  land  him  in  Sing 
Sing.  And  if  you  can't  stop  him,  he'll  do  it." 

Gordon  wrote  a  note  to  a  lawyer  and  handed  it 
to  her. 

"  Go  to  this  lawyer  and  tell  him  to  take  the  case." 

"Dan's  a  friend  of  mine,"  he  explained  to  Kate. 
"  I've  taken  him  out  of  the  hospital  three  times 
from  delirium  tremens,  and  found  work  for  him  a 
dozen  times.  But  he  can't  hold  his  job.  Everything 
seems  against  him. 

'"It's  me  face,  Doctor,'  he  tells  me  in  despair. 
'When  they  see  me  they  won't  stand  me.  Me 
wife's  cross-eyed,  or  she'd  'a'  never  married  me.  I 
was  tin  years  prowlin'  up  an'  down  the  earth  seekin' 
a  woman.  But  I  couldn't  catch  one.  She'd  'a'  got 
away  from  me  if  she  could  'a'  seed  straight." 

Kate  laughed  and  ushered  in  a  young  woman 
with  blond  hair  and  an  ill-fitting  dress.  She  walked 
as  in  a  dream,  and  there  was  a  strange  look  in  her 
eye. 

"  I  hope  you  are  feeling  better  to-day,  Miss  Alice." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  seated  herself  wearily, 
while  Gordon  drew  a  cheque  for  fifty  dollars  and 
handed  it  to  her.  She  placed  it  mechanically  in 
her  purse. 

"I  hope  you  are  making  progress  in  your  art 
now  that  you  have  a  comfortable  studio,"  he  said 
kindly. 

"I  want  to  see  him,"  she  replied  in  a  low  voice. 

"But   I   can't  give  you  his  address.     When  he 


The  Cry  of  the  City  53 

came  to  me,  conscience  stricken,  and  told  me  that 
you  were  wandering  about  the  streets  of  New  York 
ill  and  half  starved,  and  placed  this  fund  at  my 
disposal,  he  stipulated  that  he  would  pay  it  only 
so  long  as  you  let  him  alone.  You  promised  me 
last  month  to  stop  writing  letters  to  the  general 
post-office." 

"I  can't  help  it.  I  love  him.  I  don't  want  this 
money;  I  want  him." 

"But  you  know  he  is  married." 

"He  said  he'd  get  a  divorce.  I  love  him.  I'll 
be  his  servant,  his  dog — if  he  will  only  see  me  and 
speak  to  me.  Tell  me  where  to  find  him.  I  believe 
all  men  are  friends  to  one  another." 

Kate,  waiting  behind  the  curtain  which  cut  off 
Gordon's  desk,  could  hear  distinctly. 

When  the  young  woman  emerged  she  led  her  into 
the  adjoining  room,  and  there  was  the  sound  of  a 
kiss  at  the  door  as  she  left. 

An  aged  father  and  mother  came,  dressed  in 
their  best  clothes,  and  very  timid. 

"We  have  a  great  sorrow,  Doctor,"  the  father 
began  tremulously.  "We  are  strangers  in  New 
York.  We  hate  to  trouble  you.  But  we  heard 
you  preach,  and  you  seemed  to  get  so  close  to  our 
hearts  we  felt  we  had  known  you  all  our  lives." 

He  paused  and  the  mother  began  to  brush  the 
tears  from  her  eyes. 

"Our  boy  is  a  medical  student  here.  We  were 
proud  of  him: — all  we  had  dreamed  and  never 


54  The  One  Woman 

seen,  all  we  had  hoped  to  be  and  never  been  in  life, 
we  expected  to  see  in  him.  We  skimped  and  saved 
and  gave  him  an  education.  Sometimes  we  didn't 
have  much  to  eat  at  home — but  we  didn't  care. 
Did  we,  Ma?" 

The  mother  shook  her  head. 

"Then  we  mortgaged  the  farm  and  sent 
him  here  to  study  three  years  and  be  a  great 
doctor." 

He  paused,  bent  low  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands. 

"And  now,  sir,  he's  taken  to  drink,  and  they  tell  us 
at  the  college  he — won't — get — his — diploma  !  And 
we  thought,  after  we  heard  you,  maybe  you  could 
see  him,  get  hold  of  him,  and  help  us  save  him. 
He's  all  we've  got.  The  rest  are  dead." 

Gordon  looked  away  and  his  lips  quivered. 

"You'll  help  us,  Doctor?" 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  my  friends.  It's 
such  a  sad  old  story  in  this  town  that  one  gets 
hardened  to  it  till  we  see  it  in  some  fresh  revelation 
of  anguish  like  yours." 

He  took  the  name  and  address  and  the  old  man 
and  woman  went  out,  softly  crying. 

A  widow  came  to  tell  him  of  an  assault  on  her 
twelve-year-old  daughter. 

"And  because  the  brute  is  a  rich  man  on  an 
avenue,"  she  sobbed,  "they've  turned  him  loose 
with  a  fine.  I'm  poor  and  ignorant,  and  I'm  not  a 
member  of  your  church,  but  all  the  people  are  talking 


The  Cry  of  the  City  55 

about  you  in  our  neighbourhood,  and  told  me  you 
were  a  friend  of  the  weak,  and  I'm  here." 

He  called  his  assistant  in. 

" Anderson,  do  you  know  anything  of  this  case? 
How  could  such  a  thing  be  ?" 

"I've  looked  into  it.  It's  just  as  she  tells  you. 
The  man  was  arraigned  before  a  police  magistrate, 
who  had  no  power  to  try  such  a  case.  He  was 
allowed  to  plead  under  an  assumed  name — John 
Stevens,  of  Newark,  New  Jersey,  fined  and  dis 
charged.  I  informed  the  city  editor  of  the  Herald  of 
the  case ;  he  detailed  a  reporter,  who  wrote  it  up. 
He  left  out  the  man's  real  name.  Nothing  has 
come  of  it.  Our  courts  have  become  so  debased, 
God  only  knows  what  they  will  do  next.  We  have 
a  police  judge  now  who  is  the  owner  of  five 
disreputable  dives,  which  he  runs  every  day  and 
Sunday.  He  sits  down  on  the  bench  on  Monday 
and  discharges  the  cases  against  his  saloons.  We've 
another,  who  was  drunk  in  the  gutter,  with  two 
warrants  out  for  his  arrest,  when  the  Boss  made 
him  a  judge.  What  can  we  expect  from  such 
courts?" 

He  sent  her  away  with  the  promise  to  consult  the 
best  legal  talent. 

A  little  frousle-headed  woman,  carrying  a  bag 
full  of  documents,  then  explained  to  him  that  she  was 
the  inventor  of  a  process  for  preserving  dead  bodies, 
meats  and  eggs  by  treating  them  with  the  purifying 
ozone  of  the  air,  and  wished  him  to  organise  a 


56  The  One  Woman 

company,  make  her  president,  and  act  as  her 
secretary. 

''It's  the  greatest  invention  ever  conceived  by 
the  human  mind,"  she  explained,  as  she  spread  out 
scores  of  letters  and  testimonials  from  men  who  had 
tested  it,  and  many  who  had  signed  anything  to  get 
rid  of  her. 

"Madam,  if  your  process  can  only  be  applied  to 
the  city  government  of  New  York  you  will  deserve 
a  monument  higher  than  the  Statue  of  Liberty. 
But  I'm  afraid  there's  not  enough  ozone  in  the 
atmosphere." 

He  had  to  call  help  to  get  her  out,  and  then  she 
only  went  after  she  got  the  loan  of  five  dollars  to  tide 
her  over  the  week. 

A  theological  student  with  an  open  hatchet  face, 
from  the  western  plains,  on  his  way  to  Moody 's 
school  at  Northfield,  asked  for  money  to  get  there. 

"I  had  a-plenty,"  he  explained,  "but  I  met  a  man 
who  asked  me  to  change  a  bill  for  him.  He  got 
the  change,  but  I'm  looking  for  him  to  get  the  bill. 
I  don't  know,  to  save  my  life,  how  he  got  away. 
I  still  have  his  umbrella  that  he  asked  me  to  hold." 

Gordon  smiled  and  loaned  him  the  money. 

"I  don't  ask  you  for  any  references.  You  are  the 
real  thing,  my  boy." 

A  woman  in  mourning,  whom  he  recognised 
immediately  from  her  published  pictures,  asked 
him  to  champion  the  cause  of  her  son,  who  was 
under  sentence  of  death. 


The  Cry  of  the  City  57 

Gordon  readily  recalled  the  case  as  a  famous 
one.  He  had  followed  it  with  some  care  and 
was  sure  from  the  evidence  that  the  young  man 
was  guilty. 

For  a  half  hour  she  poured  out  her  mother's  soul  to 
him  in  piteous  accents. 

"My  dear  madam,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  cannot  pos 
sibly  undertake  such  work." 

"Then  who  will  save  him?  I've  tramped  the 
streets  of  New  York  for  six  months  and  appealed  to 
every  man  of  power.  Your  voice  raised  in  protest 
against  this  shameful  and  unjust  death  will  turn 
the  tide  of  public  opinion  and  save  him.  You 
can't  refuse  me !" 

"I  must  refuse,"  he  answered  firmly. 

She  turned  pale,  and  her  mouth  twitched  nerv 
ously.  He  looked  into  her  white  face  with  a 
great  pity  and  a  feeling  of  horror  swept  his  heart. 
The  pathos  and  the  agony  of  the  tragedy  filled  him 
with  strange  foreboding.  In  his  imagination  he 
could  hear  the  click  of  handcuffs  on  his  own  wrists 
and  feel  the  steel  of  prison  bars  on  his  own  hands  as 
he  peered  through  the  grating  toward  the  gate  of 
Death. 

But  he  was  firm  in  his  refusal,  and  she  left  with 
words  of  bitterness  and  reproach. 

After  a  long  procession  of  people,  sick,  and  most 
of  them  out  of  work,  he  was  surprised  to  see 
one  of  his  own  deacons  approach  with  a  look 
of  dejection. 


58  The  One  Woman 

"Why,  Ludlow,  what  ails  you?" 

"Sorry  to  trouble  you,  Pastor,  but  I've  lost  my 
place.  You  see,  I'm  more  than  fifty  years  old,  and 
though  I've  worked  for  my  firm  twenty  years,  they 
laid  me  off  for  a  younger  man.  I'm  ruined  unless  I 
can  get  work.  I've  four  people  dependent  on  me. 
I've  come  to  ask  you  to  see  the  Manager  of  the 
new  department  store  and  get  me  a  place.  I've  been 
there  three  times,  but  I  can't  get  to  the  Manager." 

"I'll  do  it  to-day,  Deacon.  Let  me  know  when  you 
need  anything." 

After  two  hours  of  this  work,  he  left,  with  Kate 
Ransom,  for  his  round  of  visits. 

She  looked  at  him  as  he  started  smilingly  from 
the  church. 

"And  you  have  gone  through  with  this  every  day 
for  ten  years?" 

"Of  course." 

"While  I  have  been  around  the  corner  laughing 
and  dancing  with  a  lot  of  idiots.  And  you  seem 
as  cheerful  as  though  you  had  been  listening  to 
ravishing  music  !" 

"Yes,  I  must  be  cheerful." 

"How  do  you  endure  it?  Yet  it  fascinates  me, 
this  life — in  touch  with  drama  more  thrilling  than 
poets  dream.  It  seems  to  me  I'm  just  beginning 
to  live.  I  am  very  grateful  to  you." 

He  looked  into  her  face,  smiling. 

"The  gratitude  is  on  my  side.  You  are  going  to 
be  more  popular  than  the  pastor." 


The  Cry  of  the  City  59 

"I'm  sure  you  will  not  be  jealous." 

"Hardly,  as  long  as  I  hear  the  extravagant  things 
you  are  telling  your  girls  about  loyalty  to  the 
leader." 

She  blushed  and  turned  her  violet  eyes  frankly  on 
him. 

"I  believe  in  loyalty." 

He  answered  with  a  look  of  gratitude. 

"We  must  go  first  to  that  store  for  Ludlow.  He's 
the  best  deacon  in  the  church,  a  staunch  friend,  a 
loyal,  tireless  worker." 

Gordon  waited  patiently  at  the  store  a  half  hour 
and  succeeded  in  reaching  the  Manager.  As  they 
left,  he  said  to  Kate : 

"Did  you  see  that  crowd  of  two  hundred  men 
waiting  at  his  door?" 

"Yes;  what  were  they  doing  there?" 

"Waiting  their  turn  to  see  the  Manager.  They 
will  come  back  to-morrow,  and  next  day  and  next 
day,  just  like  that.  I  felt  mean  to  sneak  in  ahead  of 
them  by  a  private  door  because  my  card  could  open 
it.  The  Manager  gave  me  a  note  to  the  head  of  the 
department  Ludlow  wishes  to  enter  and  asked  him  to 
suspend  the  rule  against  men  fifty  years  of  age  and 
give  my  man  a  trial.  In  return  for  this  favour  he 
coolly  asked  me  to  deliver  a  lecture  before  his 
employees  that  will  cost  me  a  week's  work.  I  had 
to  do  it.  The  head  of  the  department  who  read 
the  note  told  me  to  send  Ludlow  to  see  him,  but  he 
scowled  at  me  as  though  he  would  like  to  tear  my 


60  The  One  Woman 

eyes  out.  He  will  put  him  on  and  discharge  him 
in  a  month  for  some  frivolous  offense." 

They  boarded  a  Broadway  car  and  got  off  at 
City  Hall  Park. 

"Where  are  you  going  down  here?"  she  asked. 

"To  a  building  that  collapsed  yesterday  and  killed 
thirty  working  people.  That  house  was  condemned 
fifteen  years  ago  by  the  Inspector.  But  its  owner 
was  a  friend  of  the  Boss,  and  it  stood  till  it  fell  and 
killed  those  people." 

The  street  was  blocked  by  the  fire  department 
playing  their  streams  on  the  smouldering  ruins,  while 
gangs  of  men  worked  cleaning  away  the  rubbish 
and  searching  for  dead  bodies. 

A  crowd  of  relatives  and  friends  were  pressing 
close  to  the  ropes.  Many  of  them  had  stood  there 
all  night,  crazed  with  grief,  wringing  their  hands, 
hoping  and  praying  they  might  find  some  token  of 
love  left  of  those  dear  to  them,  and  yet  hoping  against 
hope  that  they  might  find  nothing  and  that  their 
beloved  would  appear,  saved  by  some  miracle. 

Gordon  had  promised  a  mother  whose  daughter 
was  missing  to  help  her  in  the  search.  She  did  not 
know  where  her  own  child  worked.  She  only 
knew  it  was  downtown  near  the  City  Hall.  A 
building  had  fallen  in,  and  she  had  not  come  home. 
Just  as  they  approached  the  ruins  a  body  was  found 
and  brought  to  the  enclosure  for  identification.  The 
mother  recognized  her  daughter  by  an  earring.  She 
flung  herself  across  the  black-charred  trunk  with  a 


The  Cry  of  the  City  61 

shriek  that  rang  clear  and  soul-piercing  above  the 
roar  and  thunder  of  the  city's  life  at  high  tide. 
Above  the  rumble  of  car,  the  rattle  of  wagon,  the 
jar  of  machinery,  the  tramp  and  murmur  of  millions 
the  awful  cry  pierced  the  sky. 

Kate  put  her  hand  on  Gordon's  arm  and  pressed 
her  red  lips  together,  shivering.  "O  dear  !  O  dear  ! 
what  a  cry !  I  can't  go  any  closer.  I'll  wait  for 
you  out  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd." 

He  pushed  into  the  throng,  lifted  the  woman, 
spoke  a  few  words  of  tenderness  to  her,  and  told  her 
he  would  call  at  her  home  later. 

As  he  was  about  to  leave,  a  tall,  delicate  man 
working  among  the  ruins  reeled  and  sank  in  a  faint. 
When  he  revived  he  quit  his  job  and  went  home 
without  a  word. 

"What  was  the  matter  with  that  man?"  Gordon 
asked  the  foreman  of  the  wrecking  company. 

" Starved,  to  tell  you  the  truth.  He  came  here 
yesterday  and  begged  for  a  job.  He  looked  so  pale 
and  sick  I  couldn't  refuse  him.  He  fainted  the 
first  hour  and  went  home.  He  came  back  this  morn 
ing  and  begged  me  to  try  him  again.  I  did,  but  you 
see  he  is  too  weak.  He  told  me  his  family  was 
starving. ' ' 

He  joined  Kate  and  they  crossed  the  City  Hall 
Square  and  walked  down  Centre  Street  to  the  Tombs 
prison. 

She  was  pale  and  quiet,  glancing  at  him  now  and 
then. 


62  The  One  Woman 

"I've  an  engagement  at  the  Tombs,"  he  told  her, 
"with  a  lady  to  whom  I  used  to  make  innocent  love 
in  our  youth  in  a  college  town.  I  got  a  note  from 
her  yesterday,  written  in  the  clear,  beautiful  hand  I 
recognised  from  the  memory  of  little  perfumed 
things  she  used  to  send  me.  You  don't  know  what 
a  queer  sick  feeling  came  over  me  when  I  recognised 
from  the  street  number  that  she  was  in  prison.  I 
haven't  seen  her  in  fifteen  years.  She  was  the 
village  belle  and  made  what  was  supposed  to  be  a 
brilliant  marriage." 

They  entered  the  grim  old  prison,  that  looked 
like  an  Egyptian  temple,  with  its  huge  slanting  walls 
of  granite  squatting  low  on  Centre  Street  like  a  big 
pot-bellied  spider,  watching  with  one  eye  the  brilliant 
insects  of  wealth  on  Broadway  and  with  the  other 
the  gray  vermin  swarming  under  the  Bridge  and 
along  the  river. 

Kate  put  her  hand  on  Gordon's  arm  and  drew 
closer  as  they  passed  down  its  gloomy  corridor  to 
the  warden's  office. 

She  tried  to  smile,  but  by  the  twitching  at  the 
corners  of  her  full  lips  he  could  see  she  was  nearer  to 
crying.  Again,  as  her  body  touched  his,  he  felt  the 
warmth  and  glow  of  her  beauty,  her  blue  eyes, 
cordial  and  grave,  her  waving  auburn  hair  with  its 
glowing  fires,  her  step  luxurious  and  rhythmic,  and 
now  as  her  hand  trembled,  instead  of  the  gleam  of 
cruelty  and  conscious  power,  the  timid  appeal  to  the 
strength  of  the  man. 


The  Cry  of  the  City  63 

She  looked  at  him  and  lowered  her  eyes,  and  then 
flashed  them  up  straight  into  his  face  with  a  smile. 

"I'm  not  afraid  !"  she  said  impulsively. 

"Of  course  not." 

His  steel-gray  eyes  looked  into  hers,  and  they 
both  laughed. 

Gordon  asked  the  warden's  permission  to  see  the 
woman  whose  letter  had  brought  him  and  also  the 
young  man  who  had  returned  from  Sing  Sing  for  a 
new  trial. 

"What  is  the  charge  against  the  woman?"  he 
asked. 

"Shoplifting,  sir.  She's  been  here  before  and 
begged  off.  But  they  are  going  to  send  her  up  this 
time.  I'll  allow  her  to  see  you  in  the  reception 
room." 

She  came  in,  with  a  poor  attempt  at  dignity,  and 
then  collapsed  into  whining  but  hopeful  lying.  She 
was  dressed  in  an  old  sunburnt  frock.  Her  hair 
was  tousled,  her  shoes  untied,  and  a  corset-string 
was  hanging  outside  her  skirt.  Her  front  teeth 
were  out,  and  the  red  blotches  on  her  face  told  the 
story  of  drink  and  drugs. 

"Doctor,  it's  all  a  mistake.  I  swear  to  you  I  am 
innocent.  You  don't  know  how  it  humiliates  me 
for  you  to  see  me  like  this — you,  who  knew  me  in 
the  old  days  at  home,  when  I  was  rich  and  petted 
and  loved.  And  now  I  haven't  a  friend  in  the  world. 
My  husband  left  me.  If  you  will  tell  them  to  let  me 
off,  they  will  do  it  for  your  sake.  I  swear  to  you  I 


64  The  One  Woman 

will  leave  New  York,  go  back  to  my  old  home  and 
try  to  begin  life  over  again."  She  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands. 

"  Whkt  shall  I  do  ?"  he  whispered  to  Kate.  "  She 
is  lying.  She  will  never  leave  New  York." 

"Promise  her — promise  her;  I'll  try  to  do  some 
thing  for  her." 

They  passed  inside,  along  Murderers'  Row,  and 
stopped  before  the  cell  in  which  stood  the  man 
waiting  his  new  trial.  He  poured  out  his  story 
again,  and  as  Gordon  looked  sadly  through  the 
bars  at  his  face  the  certainty  of  his  guilt  gave  the 
lie  to  every  fair  word. 

As  his  glib  tongue  rattled  on,  Gordon's  mind  was 
farther  and  farther  away.  He  was  thinking  of 
that  grim  sentence  from  the  old  Bible,  ' '  Sin  when 
it  is  full  grown  bringeth  forth  death."  And  again 
this  problem  of  sin,  the  wilful  and  persistent  viola 
tion  of  known  law,  threw  its  shadow  for  a  moment 
over  his  dream  of  social  brotherhood.  The  voice 
of  the  man  angered  him.  He  frowned,  bade  him 
good-by  and  left. 

And  as  he  passed  out,  he  felt,  in  spite  of  the 
charm  of  Kate's  companionship,  the  shadow  of  that 
veiled  mother  by  his  side,  and  heard  the  bitter 
cries  of  her  broken  heart,  until  the  sin  and 
shame  of  the  man  seemed  his  own.  The  pity  and 
pathos  of  it  all  haunted  arid  filled  him  with  vague 
forebodings. 

"Now  for  something  more  cheerful,"  he  said,  as 


The  Cry  of  the  City  65 

they  passed  out  of  the  Tombs  and  boarded  an 
uptown  car. 

"A  derrick  at  work  in  that  wreck  yesterday  fell 
on  a  working-man.  He  has  a  wife  and  four  children. 
We  must  see  how  he  is  getting  on." 

They  got  off  on  the  Bowery,  turned  down  a  cross 
street  toward  the  East  River,  threading  their  way 
through  the  masses  of  people  jamming  the  sidewalks, 
and  dodging  missiles  from  dirty  children  screaming 
and  romping  at  play. 

" Mercy!"  exclaimed  Kate,  "I  thought  Broadway 
and  Fifth  Avenue  and  the  shopping  districts  crowded 
— but  this  is  beyond  belief !  I  didn't  know  there 
were  so  many  people  in  the  world." 

"And  what  you  see  just  a  drop  in  the  ocean  of 
humanity.  There  are  miles  and  miles  of  these 
tenements  in  New  York — square  mile  after  square 
mile,  packed  from  cellar  to  attic.  We  have  a  million 
and  a  half  crowded  behind  these  grim  walls  on  this 
island  alone." 

"Surely  not  all  so  ugly  and  wretched  as 
these?" 

"Many  worse.  But  don't  let  the  outside  deceive 
you.  Back  of  these  nightmares  of  scorched  mud, 
festooned  with  shabby  clothes,  are  thousands  of 
brave  loving  men  and  women,  living  their  lives 
cheerfully,  not  asking  us  for  pity.  Even  in  this 
squalor  grow  beautiful,  innocent  girls  like  flowers 
in  a  muck-heap.  When  I  see  these  children  growing 
up  thiis  into  fair  men  and  women  with  such  sur- 


66  The  One  Woman 

roundings,  I  know  that  every  babe  is  born  a  child 
of  God,  not  of  the  devil." 

They  climbed  a  dark  stairway  and  knocked  at 
the  back  door  of  a  double-decker  tenement. 

A  stout  woman  opened  it,  and  they  entered  the 
tiny  kitchen,  so  small  that  the  table  had  to  be 
pushed  against  the  wall  to  pass  it  and  the  family 
of  six  could  not  all  eat  at  one  time  because  the  table 
could  not  be  pulled  out  into  the  room. 

"How  is  John  this  afternoon,  Mrs.  McDonald?" 

"We  don't  know,  sir.  The  doctor's  in  there  now. 
If  he  dies,  God  knows  what  we  will  do;  and  if  he 
lives,  a  cripple,  it'll  be  worse." 

The  doctor  called  them  into  the  front  room  and 
whispered  to  Gordon: 

"  He's  got  to  die,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  him.  I'm 
glad  you  are  here." 

He  took  the  man  by  the  hand. 

"Well,  John,  I'm  sorry  to  say  so  to  you,  but  you 
must  know  it.  You  can't  live  beyond  the  day." 

The  man  drew  himself  upon  his  elbow,  looked  at 
the  doctor  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way  and  then  at  his 
wife  holding  his  crying  baby  in  her  arms,  the  other 
little  ones  clinging  to  her  dress,  and  gasped : 

"Did  you  say  die?  Here — now — to-day — die? 
And  if  I  do,  I  leave  my  helpless  ones  to  starve." 

He  paused,  fingering  the  covering  nervously,  shut 
his  jaws  firmly  and  looked  at  the  doctor. 

"Almighty  God!  I  can't  die!"  he  growled 
through  his  teeth.  "  I  will  not  die  !" 


The  Cry  of  the  City  67 

"No,  no,  you  sha'n't  die,  John.  We'll  help  you 
to  live  !"  his  wife  cried. 

"Very  well;  if  you  keep  on  feeling  that  way  you 
may  live,"  said  the  doctor  cheerfully.  "We  will 
hope  for  the  best." 

Kate's  eyelids  drooped  as  she  stood  watching  this 
scene  as  in  a  dream.  She  took  the  woman  by  the 
hand  as  she  left : 

"I  do  hope  he  will  live  for  your  sake.  I  believe 
he  will." 

When  they  reached  the  street,  the  doctor  said  to 
her: 

"Glad  to  welcome  you,  Miss  Ransom,  from  the 
little  world  into  the  great  one." 

"Thank  you.  I  begin  to  feel  I  have  not  been  in 
the  world  at  all  before.  Will  he  live,  do  you  think  ?" 

"If  he  holds  that  iron  will  with  the  grip  he  has 
on  it  now  he'll  pull  through — and  be  a  hopeless 
invalid  for  life.  He  will  join  the  great  army  of 
industrial  cripples — a  havoc  that  makes  war  seem 
harmless.  The  wrecking  corporation  have  already 
sent  their  lawyer  and  settled  his  case  for  eighty-five 
dollars  cash :  not  enough  to  bury  him.  He  thought 
it  better  than  nothing." 

The   doctor  hurried  on  to  another  patient. 

It  had  grown  quite  dark.  Gordon  took  Kate  by 
the  arm  after  the  modern  fashion,  and  they  threaded 
their  way  through  the  crowds  made  denser  by  the 
return  of  the  working  people.  She  had  removed  her 
right  glove  in  the  house  and  did  not  replace  it 


68  The  One  Woman 

immediately.  His  big  hand  clasped  her  rounded, 
beautiful  arm,  and  a  thrill  of  emotion  swept  him 
at  the  consciousness  of  her  nearness,  her  sympathy, 
her  open  admiration  and  sweet  companionship  in 
his  work. 

Again,  as  she  walked  with  the  quick,  sinuous  and 
graceful  swing  of  her  body,  he  was  impressed  with 
her  perfect  health  and  vital  power.  She  had 
recovered  her  balance  now,  and  when  she  spoke  it 
was  with  contagious  enthusiasm. 

"I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for  opening  the 
door  of  a  real  world  to  me,  Doctor,"  she  declared, 
looking  up  at  him  soberly. 

1  'And  you  have  no  idea  what  inspiration  you  have 
given  the  church — just  at  a  time  I  need  it,  too," 
he  answered  warmly. 

"I've  been  wondering  what  I  did  here  for  nine 
years,  unconscious  of  this  wonderful  drama  of  love 
and  shame,  joy  and  sorrow  about  me.  But  what 
did  he  mean  by  an  army  of  cripples  greater  than  the 
havoc  of  war?" 

"Victims  of  machinery.  It's  incredible  to  those 
who  do  not  come  in  contact  with  it.  The  railroads 
alone  kill  and  wound  thirty-five  thousand  working- 
men  every  year:  this  is  a  small  percentage  of  the 
grand  total.  More  men  are  killed  and  wounded  by 
machinery  in  America  than  were  killed  and  wounded 
any  year  in  the  great  Civil  War,  the  bloodiest  and 
most  fatal  struggle  in  history.  We  pay  billions  in 
pensions  to  our  soldiers,  but  nothing  is  done  about 


The  Cry  of  the  City  69 

this.  The  social  order  that  permits  such  atrocity 
must  go  down  before  the  rising  consciousness  of 
human  brotherhood.  The  employers  ask,  'Am  I 
my  brother's  keeper?'  and  forget  that  they  are 
echoing  the  shriek  of  the  first  murderer  over  his 
victim's  body." 

"And  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  How  strange 
that  so  many  people  are  in  the  world  and  never  a 
part  of  it." 

"  You  can  begin  to  see  the  outlines  of  the  problems 
before  us.  It  will  be  years  before  you  can  realise 
the  height  and  depth  of  need  that  calls  here  to-day 
for  deeds  more  heroic  than  knights  of  old  ever 
dreamed." 

Again  she  looked  at  him  with  frank  admiration. 

"  But  the  most  wonderful  thing  I  have  seen  to-day 
has  been  a  man,"  she  boldly  said.  "Your  faith, 
your  optimism,  your  dreams  in  the  face  of  the 
awful  facts  of  life,  and  with  it  a  tenderness  of 
sympathy  I  never  thought  in  you,  have  been  a 
revelation  to  me.  I  feel  more  and  more  ashamed 
of  the  years  I  have  wasted." 

She  said  this  very  tenderly,  while  Gordon  uncon 
sciously  tightened  the  grip  of  his  big  hand  on  her  arm, 
and  then  went  on  as  though  she  had  not  spoken. 

"What  a  call  to  an  earnest  life !  New  York  City 
furnishes  two-thirds  of  the  convicts  of  the  state. 
We  have  one  murder  and  ten  suicides  every  week. 
More  than  eighty  thousand  men  and  women  are 
arrested  here  every  year.  Fifty  thousand  pass 


70  The  One  Woman 

through  that  basilisk's  den  we  saw  to-day.  We 
have  a  hundred  thousand  child  workers  out  of 
whose  tender  flesh  we  are  coming  gold.  Three 
hundred  thousand  of  our  women  are  hewers  of  wood 
and  drawers  of  water,  robbed  of  their  divine  right 
of  love  and  motherhood.  There  are  twenty  thou 
sand  children  and  fifty  thousand  men  and  women 
homeless  in  our  streets.  I  have  seen  more  than 
five  hundred  of  them  fighting  for  the  chance  of 
sleeping  on  the  bare  planks  of  a  dirty  police 
lodging-house." 

He  felt  her  nerves  quiver  with  sympathy  and 
surprise. 

"I  never  dreamed  such  things  took  place  in  New 
York." 

"Yes,  and  those  homeless  children  are  the  saddest 
tragedy.  We  haven't  orphanages  for  them.  When 
a  house  burns  down  that  has  a  coal  shute  or  an  open 
ing  in  it  where  a  child  can  crawl,  the  firemen  thrust 
their  hooks  in  and  pull  out  a  bundle  of  charred  rags 
and  flesh — one  of  these  homeless  waifs.  No  father 
or  mother  that  ever  bent  over  a  cradle,  looked  into 
a  baby's  face  and  felt  its  warm  breath  can  realise 
that  horror  and  not  go  mad.  We  don't  realise  it. 
We  ignore  it.  We  have  four  hundred  churches.  We 
open  them  a  few  hours  every  week.  We  have  nine 
thousand  saloons  opened  all  day,  most  of  the  night, 
and  Sunday  too.  We  haven't  orphanages,  but  we 
have  these  nine  thousand  factories  where  orphans 
are  made.  When  our  country  friends  come  to  see  us 


The  Cry  of  the  City  71 

we  take  them  to  see  the  saloons  !     Our  shame  is  our 
glory.     You  have  to-day  seen  some  of  the  fruits. " 

"And  yet  you  have  faith?" 

"Yes;  I  have  eyes  that  see  the  invisible.  In  all 
this  crash  of  brute  forces  I  see  beauty  in  ugliness, 
innocence  in  filth.  Here  one  is  put  to  the  test. 
Here  the  great  powers  of  Nature  have  gathered  for 
their  last  assault  and  have  challenged  man's  soul 
to  answer  for  its  life.  Dark  spiritual  forces  shriek 
their  battle-cries  over  the  din  of  matter.  The  swift 
ness  of  progress,  crushing  and  enriching,  the  mad 
greed  for  gold,  the  worship  of  success — a  success  ^ 
that  sneers  at  duty,  honour,  love  and  patriotism — 
the  filth  and  frivolity  of  our  upper  strata,  the  growth 
of  hate  and  envy  below,  the  restlessness  of  the 
masses,  the  waning  of  faith,  the  growth  of  despair, 
the  triumph  of  brute  force,  the  reign  of  the  liar  and 
huckster — all  these  are  more  real  and  threatening 
here,  as  beasts  and  reptiles  increase  in  size  as  we 
near  the  tropics.  We  are  nearing  the  tropics 
of  civilisation.  We  must  not  forget  that  the 
flowers  will  be  richer,  wilder,  more  beautiful,  and  life 
capable  of  higher  things." 

They  had  reached  her  door,  and  he  released  her 
arm,  soft,  round  and  warm,  with  a  sense  of  loss  and 
regret. 

"Yet  with  all  its  shadows  and  sorrows,"  he  cried 
with  enthusiasm,  <(I  love  this  imperial  city.     It  is      ^ 
the  centre  of  our  national  life — its   very  beating 
heart.     If  we  can  make  it  clean,  its  bright  blood  will 


72  The  One  Woman 

go  back  to  the  farthest  village  and  country  seat  with 
life.  I  shall  live  to  see  its  black  tenements  swept 
away,  and  homes  for  the  people,  clean,  white  and 
beautiful,  rise  in  their  places.  I  have  a  vision  of  its 
streets  swept  and  garnished,  of  green  parks  full  of 
happy  children,  of  working-men  coming  to  their 
homes  with  songs  at  night  as  men  once  sang  because 
their  work  was  glad.  I  haven't  much  to  depend  on 
just  now  in  the  church.  But  God  lives.  I  have  a 
growing  group  of  loyal  young  dreamers,  and  you 
have  come  as  an  omen  of  greater  things. " 

She  smiled. 

"  I'll  do  my  best  not  to  disappoint  you. " 

He  shook  hands  with  her,  declining  to  go  in,  and, 
as  she  sprang  swiftly  and  gracefully  up  the  steps,  his 
eyes  lingered  a  moment  on  the  rhythm  of  her  move 
ment  and  the  glory  of  her  splendid  figure  in  sheer 
rapture  for  its  perfect  beauty. 

As  he  turned  homeward,  he  thrust  his  hand,  yet 
warm  with  the  touch  of  her  bare  arm,  into  his  pocket, 
drew  out  two  pearls,  looked  tenderly  at  them  and 
felt  their  smooth,  rounded  forms.  A  longing  for 
such  companionship  in  work  with  his  wife  swept 
his  soul. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  PUDDLE  AND  THE  TADPOLE 

WHEN  Gordon  started  home  from  his  round  of 
visits  with  Kate  the  wind  had  hauled  to  the  north 
and  it  began  to  spit  drops  of  snow.  The  cars  were 
still  crowded,  the  aisles  full  and  the  platforms 
jammed,  though  it  was  seven  o'clock.  He  buttoned 
his  coat  about  his  neck  and  paced  the  station,  waiting 
for  a  train  in  which  he  could  find  a  seat. 

"  Bad  omen  for  my  trustee  meeting  to-night, "  he 
muttered.  "  This  air  feels  like  Van  Meter's  breath. " 

He  allowed  four  trains  to  pass,  and  at  last  boarded 
one  worse  crowded  than  the  first.  With  a  sigh  for 
the  end  of  cavalry,  he  pushed  his  way  through 
the  dense  mass  packed  at  the  doors,  wedging  his 
big  form  roughly  among  the  women,  to  the  centre 
of  the  car,  and  mechanically  seized  a  strap.  He 
was  so  used  to  this  leather-strap  habit  that  he  held 
on  with  one  hand  and,  while  reading,  unfolded  and 
folded  his  paper  with  the  other. 

He  climbed  the  hill  to  his  home  in  the  face  of  a 
howling  snow-storm. 

Ruth  looked  at  him  intently. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  couldn't  get  home  earlier,"  he  said. 
"  I've  had  a  hard  day. " 

73 


74  The  One  Woman 

"But  such  pleasant  help  that  you  didn't  mind 
it,  I'm  sure.  I  heard  Miss  Ransom  was  assisting 
you.  I  went  to  the  church  and  found  you  had 
gone  out  with  her.  I  hear  she  is  becoming 
indispensable  in  your  work. " 

"Come,  Ruth,  let's  not  have  another  silly 
quarrel." 

"No;  it's  a  waste  of  breath,"  she  replied  bitterly. 

He  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  house  after  supper 
and  hurried  back  to  his  study  to  collect  his 
thoughts  for  the  battle  he  knew  he  must  wage  with 
Van  Meter.  This  one  man  had  ruled  the  church 
with  his  rod  of  gold  for  twenty  years.  He  had 
established  a  mission  station  on  the  East  Side  and 
gathered  into  it  the  undesirable  people.  He  was 
the  watchdog  of  the  Prudential  Committee  guard 
ing  the  door  to  membership. 

This  trustee  meeting  had  for  him  a  double  interest. 
A  panic  in  Wall  Street  had  all  but  ruined  Van  Meter. 
He  had  attempted  to  corner  the  bread  market.  The 
wheat  crop  had  been  ruined  by  a  hard  winter,  and 
the  little  black  eyes,  watching,  believed  the  coup 
could  be  made. 

The  attempt  was  in  concerted  action  through  his 
associate  houses  in  Chicago  and  St.  Louis,  and  he  had 
plunged  as  never  before.  The  corner  had  failed.  It 
was  reported  that  he  had  made  an  assignment. 
This  had  proved  a  mistake.  His  long-established 
credit  and  his  high  personal  standing  in  Wall 
Street  had  rallied  money  to  his  support  and  he 


The  Puddle  and  the  Tadpole  75 

had  pulled  out  with  the  loss  of  three-fourths  of  his 
fortune. 

Gordon  wondered  what  the  effect  of  this  blow 
would  be  on  his  character  and  attitude  toward  the 
church's  work.  He  was  specially  anxious  to  know 
the  effect  of  the  reverse  on  the  imagination 
of  the  other  members  of  the  Board,  who  merely 
revolved  in  worshipful  admiration  around  his 
millions. 

He  asked  Van  Meter  to  come  to  his  study  for  a 
personal  interview  before  the  meeting.  The  Deacon 
was  cool  and  polite,  and  his  little  eyes  were  shining 
with  a  distant  luster. 

"I  was  sorry,  Deacon,  to  learn  of  your  personal 
misfortunes." 

Van  Meter  wet  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue,  looked 
Gordon  squarely  in  the  face  and  snapped: 

"Were  you  the  clergyman  who  made  the  state 
ment  concerning  that  corner  reported  yesterday  in 
an  evening  paper?" 

Gordon  flushed,  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and 
boldly  replied: 

"Yes,  I  was,  and  I  repeat  it  to  you.  On  every 
such  attempt  to  coin  money  out  of  hunger  and 
despair  I  pray  God's  everlasting  curse  to  fall.  I  am 
glad  your  corner  failed.  The  world  is  larger  than 
New  York,  and  New  York  is  larger  than  the  Stock 
Exchange.  Am  I  clear?" 

"Quite  so.  With  your  permission  I  will  return 
to  the  trustee  meeting," 


76  The  One  Woman 

"Very  well.  I  wish  to  make  a  statement  to  the 
Board  when  you  are  ready." 

Gordon  frowned,  sat  down  and  made  some  notes  of 
the  points  he  wished  to  urge. 

He  had  often  wondered  at  the  impotence  of  the 
average  preacher  in  NewT  York.  But  as  he  felt  the 
forces  of  materialism  closing  about  him,  and  their 
steel  grip  on  his  heart,  he  began  to  know  why  New 
York  is  the  preacher's  graveyard.  He  had  won  his 
great  audience.  His  voice  had  not  been  drowned 
in  the  roar  of  the  breakers  of  this  ocean  of  fleshy  but 
he  had  met  bitter  disillusioning.  As  he  looked  into 
the  faces  of  his  Board  of  Trustees,  dominated  by  that 
little  bald-headed  man,  he  felt  the  cruel  force  of 
Overman's  sneer  at  the  modern  church  as  the  home 
of  the  mean  and  the  crippled  and  the  sick.  The 
appeal  to  the  ideal  seemed  to  stick  in  his  throat. 

He  had  thrilled  at  the  struggle  with  the  big  city's 
rushing  millions.  Their  stupendous  indifference 
dared  him  to  conquer  or  die,  and  he  had  conquered. 
He  had  seen  these  indifferent  millions  swallow 
cabinets,  presidents,  princes  and  kings,  and  rush  on 
their  way  without  a  thought  whether  they  lived  or 
died.  He  had  made  himself  heard.  But  this  power 
/that  worshiped  a  dollar  and  called  it  God,  that  con 
trolled  the  finances  of  the  church  and  sought  to  con 
trol  its  pastor  and  strangle  his  soul^-this  was  the 
force  slowly  choking  him  to  death  unless  he  could 
conquer  it. 

The  average  preacher,  when  he  landed  in  New 


The  Puddle  and  the  Tadpole  77 

York  and  faced  the  roar  of  its  advancing  ocean  of 
materialism,  fluttered  hopelessly  about  for  a  year 
or  two  like  a  frightened  sand-fiddler  in  the  edge  of 
the  surf  of  a  cyclone,  was  engulfed,  and  disappeared. 

To  conquer  this  sea  and  lift  his  voice  in  power 
above  its  thunder,  and  then  be  strangled  in  a  little 
yellow  puddle  full  of  tadpoles,  was  more  than  his 
soul  could  endure. 

'Til  not  submit  to  it,"  he  growled,  with  clenched 
fist. 

When  he  entered  the  meeting,  the  dozen  men 
were  hanging  on  Van  Meter's  lips  as  on  the  inspired 
word  of  Moses. 

"I  was  just  telling  the  Board,"  he  suavely  ex 
plained,  "that  Mr.  Wellford,  on  whom  we  must 
depend  for  such  a  building  enterprise  involving 
millions,  has  declared  his  hostility  to  the  scheme. 
He  is  out  of  sympathy  with  the  sensational  methods 
of  the  Pilgrim  Church." 

"I'll  inform  the  Board,"  said  Gordon,  as  he 
advanced  toward  Van  Meter  and  thrust  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  "that  it's  not  true.  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Wellford,  by  his  invitation,  this  week  at  his  home. 
I  laid  our  great  plan  before  him.  I  found  him  a  big 
man,  a  man  who  thinks  big  thoughts,  and  does  big 
things.  He  told  me  frankly  he  was  heartily  in 
favour  of  it  and  would  do  his  part  the  moment 
we  were  ready  and  other  men  of  wealth  would  join 
in  the  movement.  He  simply  declares  that  we 
must  act  first," 


78  The  One  Woman 

Van  Meter  pursed  his  lips  and  tried  to  lift  his  nose 
into  a  sneer. 

"May  I  ask,  Doctor,  if  it  is  your  intention  to 
demand  a  vote  to-night  on  this  building  scheme?" 

"It  is." 

"Then  I  suggest  that  we  vote  first  and  hear  your 
speech  afterward.  Some  of  us  may  wish  to  go  before 
you're  done." 

Gordon  turned  red  with  rage  and  started  to  sit 
down,  but,  wheeling,  he  again  faced  the  chairman 
and  glared  at  him. 

"Pardon  my  business  methods,  Doctor,"  he  went 
on,  "but  your  visions  are  rather  tiresome.  We  are 
old  New  Yorkers.  W^e  know  what  you  are  going  to 
tell  us  of  the  dark  problem  of  the  city's  corruption, 
the  poverty  of  the  poor,  and  so  on.  Every  now 
and  then  we  see  such  sacred  fires  burning  in  the 
heart  of  a  country  parson  called  to  town.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  the  splendour  of  these  little  fizzling  pinwheels 
that  light  the  cruelty  and  darkness  of  metropolitan 
life  for  a  moment,  New  York  has  managed  some 
how  to  jog  along." 

Gordon's  anger  melted  into  a  laugh  as  he  watched 
the  Deacon's  face  grow  purple  with  fury  as  he  fairly 
hissed  the  last  sentence  of  his  speech.  He  was  not 
an  impressive  man  in  an  attempted  flight  of  elo 
quence,  and  the  preacher's  laughter  quite  unhorsed 
him. 

"Gentlemen,"  Gordon  said  with  quiet  dignity, 
"I  came  here  to-night  to  make  an  appeal.  But  I'm 


The  Puddle  and  the  Tadpole  79 

no  longer  in  the  mood.  I  see  in  your  faces  the  folly 
of  it.  I  make  an  announcement  to  you.  The 
Temple  will  be  built,  with  or  without  you.  I  prefer 
your  cooperation.  I  can  do  it  with  your  united 
opposition.  God  lives,  and  the  age  of  miracles  is 
not  passed." 

"In  behalf  of  the  Board  I  accept  your  challenge 
and  await  the  miracle,"  retorted  Van  Meter.  "You 
can  pray  till  you're  blue  in  the  face  and  you  will 
never  get  money  enough  to  buy  a  lot  on  Fifth  Avenue 
big  enough  to  bury  yourself,  to  say  nothing  of  rear 
ing  a  Solomon's  Temple  on  it." 

"We  shall  see,"  the  young  giant  replied. 

"This  Board  is  tired  of  the  circus  business,"  Van 
Meter  went  on  angrily.  "You  have  transformed  the 
church  already  into  a  menagerie.  We  don't  want 
any  more  of  your  Soup- House  Sarahs,  Hallelujah 
Johns  nor  decorative  bums  testifying  here  to  the 
power  of  miracles,  while  we  wonder  whether  our 
overcoats  will  be  on  the  rack  when  we  recover  from 
the  spell  of  their  eloquence.  It's  a  big  world, 
there's  room  for  us  all,  but  there's  not  room  for 
any  more  new  wrinkles  in  this  church." 

"Yes,  it  is  a  big  world,  Deacon,  but  there 
are  some  small  potatoes  in  it.  There's  hope 
for  a  fool,  he  may  be  turned  from  his  folly, 
but  God  Almighty  can't  put  a  gallon  into  a  pint 
cup." 

"We'll  see  who  the  small  potato  is  before  the  day 
is  done,"  Van  Meter  snorted. 


8o  The  One  'Woman 

Gordon  continued,  meditatively,  without  noticing 
the  interruption: 

"Of  all  the  little  things  on  this  earth  a  little  New 
Yorker  is  the  smallest.  I've  met  ignorance  in  the 
South,  sullen  pigheadedness  in  New  England;  I've 
measured  the  boundless  cheek  of  the  West,  my 
native  heath;  but  for  self-satisfied  stupidity,  for 
littleness  in  the  world  of  morals,  I  have  seen  nothing 
on  earth,  or  under  it,  quite  so  small  as  a  well-to-do 
New  Yorker.  He  has  little  brains,  or  culture,  and 
only  the  rudiments  of  common  sense,  but,  being  from 
New  York,  he  assumes  everything.  Of  God's  big 
world,  outside  Wall  Street,  Broadway,  Fifth  Avenue, 
Central  Park  and  Coney  Island,  he  knows  nothing; 
for  he  neither  reads  nor  travels ;  and  yet  pronounces 
instant  judgment  on  world  movements  of  human 
thought  and  society." 

And  deliberately  he  put  on  his  hat  and  left  the 
room. 

The  net  result  of  the  meeting  was  a  vote  to 
reduce  the  pastor's  salary  a  thousand  dollars  and 
add  it  to  the  music  fund ;  and  Van  Meter  hired  two 
detectives  to  watch  the  minister. 


CHAPTER  VII 
A   STOLEN   Kiss 

FOR  several  weeks  after  Gordon  flung  down  the 
gauntlet  to  his  Board  of  Trustees  and  begun  his 
battle  for  supremacy  his  wife  maintained  a  strange 
attitude  of  silence  and  reserve. 

She  had  hired  a  nurse  and  resumed  her  study  of 
music.  Her  contralto  voice,  one  of  great  depth  and 
sweetness,  he  had  admired  extravagantly  in  the  days 
of  their  courtship,  but  she  had  ceased  to  sing  of  late 
years.  He  always  listened  to  her  lullaby  to  the 
children  with  fascination.  The  soft  round  notes 
from  her  delicate  throat  seemed  full  of  magic  and 
held  him  in  a  spell. 

Before  he  left  for  his  study  one  morning  she 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  yearning  in  her  dark 
eyes. 

"Come  into  the  parlour,  Frank;  I  will  sing  for 
you." 

She  took  her  seat  at  the  piano,  and  her  white 
tapering  fingers  ran  lightly  over  the  keys  with  deft, 
sure  touch. 

"What  would  you  like  to  hear?"  she  asked 
timidly,  from  beneath  her  long  lashes,  with  the 
old  haunting  charm  in  her  manner. 

81 


82  The  One  Woman 

"Tennyson's  'Break,  Break,  Oh,  Thou  Cold  Gray 
Sea/  No  poet  ever  dreamed  that  song  as  you  have 
sung  it,  Ruth." 

Never  did  he  hear  her  sing  with  such  feeling.  Her 
voice,  low,  soft  and  caressing  with  the  languid 
sensuousness  of  the  South,  quivered  with  tenderness, 
and  then  rose  with  the  storm  and  broke  in  round, 
deep  peals  of  passion  until  he  could  hear  the  roar  of 
the  surf  and  feel  its  white  spray  in  his  face.  Her 
erect  lithe  figure,  with  the  small  white  hands  and 
wrists  flashing  over  the  keys,  the  petite  anxious  face 
with  stormy  eyes  and  raven  hair,  seemed  the  incar 
nate  soul  of  the  storm. 

"Glorious,  Ruth  !"  he  cried,  with  boy  like  wonder. 

And  then  she  bent  over  the  piano  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"Why,  what  ails  you,  my  dear  ?" 

"Oh,  Frank,  I'm  selfish  to  leave  the  children  to  a 
nurse  and  study  music." 

"Nonsense.  Self-sacrifice  is  rational  only  as  it  is 
the  highest  form  of  self -development.  It  is  your 
duty  to  develop  yourself.  Self  is  the  source  of  all 
knowledge  and  strength;  books  are  its  record;  the 
world  exists  only  through  its  eyes." 

"I'm  afraid  of  it.  I  wish  to  give  all  to  you  and 
the  children,  not  to  myself.  I  want  you  all  to 
myself,  and  you  are  growing  away  from  me.  I  know 
it,  and  it  is  breaking  my  heart." 

He  laughed  at  her  fears,  kissed  her  and  went 
to  his  study. 


A  Stolen  Kiss  83 

Since  his  break  with  his  Board  he  had  grown 
daily  in  power — power  in  himself  and  over  his  people. 
Conflict  was  always  to  him  the  trumpet  call  to  heroic 
deeds.  The  knowledge  that  Van  Meter  was  now 
his  open  enemy  and  that  he  was  attempting  to 
build  a  hostile  faction  within  the  church  roused  his 
soul  to  its  depths.  Thrown  back  thus  upon  himself 
and  his  appeal  to  the  greater  tribunal  of  the  people, 
he  preached  as  never  before  in  his  life.  His  sermons 
had  the  vigour  and  prophetic  fire  of  the  crusader. 
His  crowds  increased  until  it  was  necessary  to  ask 
for  police  aid  to  control  the  exits  and  entrances  to 
the  building.  Long  before  the  hour  of  service  a 
dense  mass  of  men  and  women  were  packed  against 
the  doors. 

Van  Meter  watched  this  growth  of  influence  with 
wonder  and  disgust.  He  determined  to  leave  no 
stone  unturned  that  might  put  a  stumbling-block  in 
his  way.  His  detectives  had  failed  as  yet  to  find 
any  clue  that  might  compromise  him.  Once  they 
rushed  to  his  office  with  the  information  that  they 
had  tracked  him  to  a  questionable  house.  The 
Deacon  called  up  his  son-in-law  and  asked  excitedly 
for  a  reporter  to  write  a  thrilling  piece  of  news. 
The  reporter  found  that  Gordon  had  called  at  the 
house,  but  in  answer  to  a  summons  to  see  a  dying 
girl. 

Van  Meter  insisted  upon  the  item  being  printed, 
but  the  young  city  editor  scowled  and  threw  it  in 
the  waste  basket. 


84  The  One  Woman 

The  Deacon  at  length  discovered  Ruth's  jealousy 
and  located  the  woman  who  was  its  object.  A 
costly  bouquet  of  flowers  was  placed  on  Gordon's 
desk  in  the  study  every  morning,  and  an  enormous 
one  blossomed  every  Sunday  morning  and  evening 
on  the  little  table  beside  his  chair  in  the  pulpit. 
The  sexton  could  not  tell  who  paid  the  bills.  A 
florist  sent  them. 

The  Deacon  had  been  bitterly  chagrined  at  the 
outcome  of  his  movement  in  reducing  the  salary. 
At  first  the  people  heard  it  with  amazement,  and 
then,  when  Gordon  informed  a  reporter  of  the  fight 
in  progress  and  it  was  published,  they  laughed,  and 
a  cheque  was  sent  him  for  two  thousand  dollars  to 
make  good  the  deficit  and  add  one  thousand  more. 

The  day  after  this  advent  he  had  a  hard  day's 
work.  A  procession  of  people  drained  him  of  every 
cent  of  money  he  could  spare  and  every  ounce  of 
sympathy  and  shred  of  nerve  force  in  his  body. 

He  had  tried  the  year  before  to  establish  a  free 
employment  bureau  to  relieve  him  of  this  strain. 
But  the  bureau  added  to  his  work.  He  had  to  close 
it.  It  had  required  the  employment  of  five  assistants, 
and  even  these  could  make  little  impression  on  the 
list  of  applicants  who  crowded  the  rooms  and  blocked 
the  pavements  from  morning  until  night. 

When  the  sick  and  hungry  and  out-of-works  had 
been  disposed  of  after  a  fashion,  the  miscellaneous 
crowd  filed  in. 

An  old  college  mate  came  in  shivering  in  a  thin, 


A  Stolen  Kiss  85 

dirty  suit.  He  fumbled  at  his  hat  nervously  until 
he  caught  Gordon's  eye  and  saw  him  smile. 

"Well,  by  the  great  hornspoon,  Ned,  you  look 
like  you've  fallen  into  a  well !" 

"Worse'n  that,  Frank;  I  slipped  clean  into  hell. 
I  got  with  some  fellows,  went  on  a  drunk,  stayed 
a  month  and  lost  my  place.  I  want  you  to  loan 
me  money  to  get  to  Baltimore,  buy  a  decent  suit 
of  clothes,  and  I'll  get  another  position.  Yes,  and 
I'll  lift  my  head  up  and  be  a  man." 

Gordon  sent  out  to  the  bank  and  got  the  money 
for  him. 

Another  seedy  one  softly  explained  to  him  that 
he  was  a  fellow  countryman  from  Indiana.  Gordon 
gave  him  a  quarter. 

A  sobbing  woman  closely  veiled  he  recognised  as 
a  bride  he  had  married  in  the  church  after  prayer 
meeting  two  weeks  before. 

" Doctor,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  "I've  called  to 
beg  you  please  not  to  allow  any  one  to  know  of  my 
marriage.  My  husband  turned  out  to  be  a  burglar. 
He  stole  ten  thousand  dollars  from  an  old  lady  who 
is  one  of  our  boarders,  and  skipped.  He  married 
me  to  get  the  run  of  the  house.  He  tried  to  marry 
her  first,  though  she  was  seventy-five  years  old, 
got  in  her  room  last  night,  stole  the  money,  and 
now  he's  gone.  I'm  heartbroken  !  " 

"What !  because  he's  gone?" 

"No;  because  I  was  a  fool.  I  know  he  has  a 
dozen  wives.  He  was  so  handsome." 


86  The  One  Woman 

"Madam,  I'm  not  very  sorry  for  you.  I  tried 
to  prevent  you  marrying  him  that  night.  I  begged 
you  to  go  back  to  Jersey  City  to  your  own  church." 

"You  will  keep  it  secret,  Doctor?"  she  begged. 

"I'll  not  publish  it.  But  the  certificate  is  on 
file  in  the  Hall  of  Records.  Any  one  can  see  it 
who  wishes.  It  is  beyond  my  control." 

An  old  woman  with  bedraggled  skirt,  reddened 
eyes  and  a  fat,  motherly  face  timidly  approached. 
She  had  been  overlooked. 

"  Doctor,  you're  my  last  chance.  I  come  up  to 
New  York  to  see  my  son-in-law,  as  grand  a  rascal 
as  ever  lived.  He  owes  me  a  thousand  dollars  and 
won't  pay  it.  We  lost  our  crop  down  in  Old 
Virginia.  So  I  scraped  up  the  money  and  got 
here  to  squeeze  what  he  owed  out  of  that  rascal. 
Now  he's  turned  me  out  into  the  street  and  moved 
where  I  can't  find  him.  I'm  starvin'  to  death.  I 
ain't  got  a  cent  to  go  home;  an'  what's  wrorse'n  all, 
I  got  a  letter  this  mornin'  tellin'  me  my  idiot  boy's 
down  sick  an'  cry  in'  for  me.  I'm  the  only  one  can 
do  anything  for  him.  He  can't  understand  nobody 
else." 

Her  voice  broke  and  she  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back 
the  tears. 

"  I've  begged  all  day.  Everybody  laughs  at  me. 
I  heard  you  preach  one  Sunday.  I  knowed  you 
wouldn't  laugh  at  me.  I  want  you  to  loan  me 
twenty  dollars  to  get  home  quick.  I'll  start  the 
minute  I  can  get  to  the  train,  an'  I'll  pay  you  back 


A  Stolen  Kiss  87 

if  I  have  to  sell  my  feather  beds.  Now,  will  you 
do  it?" 

1  'Well,  a  more  improbable  story  was  never  told 
a  New  Yorker,  but  something  whispers  to  me  you're 
telling  the  truth." 

"You'll  do  it?" 

"Yes." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  cried  with  streaming 
eyes: 

"Oh,  Lord,  have  mercy  on  my  poor  soul,  that  I 
doubted  You,  and  thought  You  had  forsaken 
me!" 

Gordon  handed  her  the  cheque. 

"I'm  going  to  kiss  you!"  she  fairly  screamed. 

Before  he  could  lift  his  hand  or  protest  she  threw 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

As  he  took  her  hands  down  from  his  shoulders  and 
drew  his  face  away  from  the  mouldy-smelling  old 
shawl,  he  looked  toward  the  door,  and  Ruth  stood 
in  the  entrance.  Her  eyes  blazed  with  wrath,  but 
as  she  saw  the  faded  and  bedraggled  dress  and 
moth-eaten  shawl  and  looked  into  the  tear-stained 
motherly  old  face  she  burst  into  hysterical  laughter. 

Gordon  rose  and  escorted  the  woman  to  the  door 
with  courtesy. 

"You  will  find  the  bank  at  the  corner  of  Sixth 
Avenue  and  Twenty-third  Street — the  Garfield 
National.  Write  me  how  }^our  son  is  when  you 
reach  home,  and  send  me  the  money  when  you  are 
able." 


88  The  One  Woman 

11 1  will.  God  bless  you,  sir,"  she  answered  with 
fervour. 

When  he  returned  to  his  study,  Ruth  was  still 
hysterical,  and  he  sat  down  without  a  word  and 
began  to  write. 

"  Frank,  I'm  sorry  to  have  been  so  rude,"  she 
said  at  length. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No;  I'm  sorry  I  humiliated  myself  by  spying  on 
you." 

She  sat  twisting  her  handkerchief,  glancing  at 
him  timidly. 

"And  you  can't  understand  how  deeply  you  have 
wounded  me  by  such  an  act,  Ruth.  I  hope  you 
have  heard  all  that  passed  here  this  morning." 

"It's  strange  how  I  always  seem  to  be  in  the 
wrong.  Frank,  I  am  very  sorry.  You  must  forgive 
me.  And  I  have  another  confession.  I've  been 
receiving  anonymous  letters  about  you  for  the  past 
three  weeks.  I  was  too  weak  and  cowardly  to  show 
them  to  you.  It  was  one  of  these  letters  which  caused 
me  to  come  here  this  morning.  And  now  I've 
wounded  you,  and  alienated  your  heart  from  me 
more  than  ever.  I  feel  I  shall  die." 

She  began  to  sob. 

"Come,  Ruth,  you  must  conquer  this  insanity. 
Naturally  you  are  bright,  witty,  cheerful  and  alto 
gether  charming.  Jealousy  reduces  you  to  a  lump 
of  stupidity." 

"You  do  forgive  me?" 


A  Stolen  Kiss  89 

"Yes;  and  don't,  for  heaven's  sake,  do  such  a 
thing  again.  Ask  me  what  you  wish  to  know.  I 
am  not  a  liar;  I  will  tell  you  the  truth." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  hear  it  if  it's  cruel,"  she 
protested. 

"  The  truth  is  best,  gentle  or  cruel." 

She  kissed  him  impulsively  and  left. 

He  sat  for  an  hour,  tired,  sore  and  brooding  over 
this  scene  with  his  wife.  He  caught  the  perfume  of 
the  flowers  on  his  desk,  and  in  the  tints  of  the  roses 
saw  the  warm  blushes  of  the  woman  who  had  sent 
them.  Her  voice  was  friendly  and  caressing  and 
her  speech  words  of  sweetest  flattery — flattery  that 
cleared  the  stupor  from  his  brain  and  gave  life  and 
new  faith  in  himself  and  his  work ;  flattery  that  had 
in  it  a  mysterious  personal  flavour  that  piqued  his 
curiosity  and  fed  his  vanity.  How  clearly  he 
recalled  her — the  superb  figure,  with  rounded  bust 
and  arms  full  and  magnificent,  in  the  ripe  glory  of 
youth,  her  waving  auburn  hair  so  thick  and  long 
it  could  envelop  half  her  body.  Often  he  had 
watched  the- light  blaze  through  its  red  tints  while 
he  talked  to  her  of  his  dreams,  her  lips  half  parted 
with  lazy  tenderness  and  ready  with  gentle  words. 
He  recalled  the  rhythmic  music  of  her  walk,  strong 
and  insolent  in  its  luxury  of  health.  And  he  was 
grateful  for  the  cheer  she  had  brought  into  his  life. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

SWEET  DANGER 

KATE  RANSOM  had  attempted  no  close  analysis 
of  her  absorbing  interest  in  Gordon's  work.  The 
change  in  her  life  from  weariness  to  thrilling  interest 
had  been  its  own  justification.  Wealth  had  robbed 
her  of  the  mystery  and  charm  of  accident.  The 
future  was  fixed;  there  could  be  no  unknown.  The 
men  she  had  met  in  society  were  mere  fops,  or 
expert  butlers  who  wrote  books  on  etiquette.  Life 
was  a  problem  for  them  of  what  the  tailors  could  do. 

She  had  been  isolated  from  humanity.  Now  she 
felt  the  red  blood  tingling  to  her  finger  tips.  Her 
days  were  full  of  sweet  surprises  or  sudden  revela 
tions  of  drama  and  tragedy,  and  her  woman's  soul 
responded  with  eager  interest. 

She  had  never  loved.  Such  a  woman  could  not 
love  a  tailor's  dummy.  Her  nature  was  warm, 
rich  and  passionate,  and  she  was  consumed  with 
longing  for  the  moment  of  bliss  when  her  whole 
being  would  so  burn  with  sacrificial  fire  for  her 
beloved  that  she  could  walk  with  him  naked  in 
winter  snows,  unconscious  of  cold. 

Dress,  the  great  mania  of  the  empty  minded,  she 
had  outgrown.  She  knew  instinctively  the  colour 

90 


Sweet  Danger  91 

and  the  style  most  becoming  to  her  beauty,  and  she 
used  these  with  the  ease  and  assurance  of  an  expert. 
She  was  proud  of  her  beautiful  face  and  figure  and 
held  them  as  divine  gifts,  the  surest  tokens  of  the 
fulfilment  of  her  desires. 

Her  heart,  rich  in  the  ripened  treasures  of  unspent 
motherhood,  brooded  in  tenderness  over  her  new 
work — the  tortures  of  half -starved  mothers,  their 
doomed  babes,  their  idle  fathers,  and  the  misery  of 
the  poor  and  the  fallen.  This  yearning  to  help  she 
knew  to  be  the  cry  within  her  own  soul  for  peace. 

How  to  express  this  fulness  of  life  Gordon  was 
teaching  her.  Slowly  and  unconsciously  she  was 
clothing  this  powerful,  athletic  man  with  every 
attribute  of  her  ideal.  His  steel-gray  eyes  seemed 
to  pierce  her  very  soul  and  say,  "I  understand  you; 
come  with  me."  His  eloquence  and  emotional 
thinking  were  more  and  more  to  her  the  voice  of 
a  prophet  seer.  His  face,  that  flashed  and  trembled, 
smiled  and  clouded  with  fires  of  smouldering  passion, 
held  her  as  in  a  spell.  She  knew  this  power  was 
slowly  tightening  about  her  heart,  yet  she  rejoiced 
in  its  very  pain.  When  she  greeted  him,  and  he 
unconsciously  held  her  soft  hand  in  his  big  blue- 
veined  grasp,  a  sense  of  restful  joy  came  she  knew 
not  whence  nor  why. 

Her  enthusiasm  in  his  work,  her  faith  and  cheering 
flattery  were  drawing  him  with  resistless  magnetism. 

As  the  summer  advanced  the  heat  became  so 
terrific  and  the  suffering  in  the  city  so  great  that 


p2  The  One  Woman 

Gordon  determined  to  stay  at  his  post  and  take 
his  vacation  in  the  fall.  Mrs.  Ransom  fussed  and 
fumed  over  Kate's  determination  to  stay,  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it. 

July  broke  the  record  of  forty  years  for  heat. 
Scores  were  prostrated  daily  and  dead  horses 
blocked  traffic  at  almost  every  hour.  A  drought 
threatened  the  water-supply,  and  night  brought 
no  relief  to  the  millions  who  sweltered  in  the 
tenements. 

The  babies  began  to  die  by  thousands — more  than 
two  thousand  a  week  on  Manhattan  Island  alone. 
The  city's  wagons  raked  the  little  black  coffins  up 
and  dumped  them  into  the  Potters'  Field,  one  on 
top  of  the  other,  like  so  many  dead  flies.  Down 
every  tenement-walled  street  the  white  ribbons 
fluttered  their  tragic  story  from  cellar  to  attic. 
At  night  tired  mothers  walked  the  pavements,  hot 
and  radiating  heat,  till  the  sun  rose  again, 
carrying  their  sick  babies,  or  crowded  the  house 
tops,  fanning  them  as  they  lay  on  their  pallets, 
pale  and  still,  fighting  with  Death  the  grim,  silent 
battle. 

Kate  Ransom  finally  gave  her  entire  time  to  these 
children.  She  fitted  up  a  hotel  in  the  mountains  of 
Pennsylvania  and  kept  it  full.  She  chartered  a 
steamer  and  took  a  thousand  of  them  for  a  day  up 
the  Hudson  as  an  experiment,  and  asked  Gordon 
to  go  with  them.  They  would  have  music,  and  a 
dinner  spread  under  the  trees  of  the  park  which 


Sweet  Danger  93 

stretched  back  from  the  water's  edge  into  the 
towering  hills. 

He  met  them  at  the  ferry  slip  from  which  the 
steamer  sailed.  Kate  was  already  there,  and  the 
throng  filled  every  inch  of  the  floor  space.  She  was 
moving  about  among  them,  while  they  gazed  at  her 
in  admiration  no  words  in  their  vocabulary  could 
express.  Her  face  was  flushed  with  excitement, 
and  her  violet  eyes,  wide  open,  were  sparkling 
with  pleasure. 

The  man's  eyes  lingered  on  the  scene,  feeling  that, 
for  all  her  magnificently  human  body,  no  angel  ever 
made  a  fairer  vision. 

He  was  struck  with  the  silence  of  these  children. 
As  he  looked  closer  it  was  only  too  plain  they  were 
not  children.  They  were  only  little  wizen-faced 
men  and  women,  who  had  never  learned  to  laugh 
or  smile  or  play ;  little  pinched  faces  with  weak  eyes 
that  had  never  seen  God's  green  fields;  little  dirty 
ears  that  had  been  bruised  with  a  thousand  beastly 
noises,  but  had  never  heard  the  murmur  of  beautiful 
waters  in  the  depths  of  a  forest.  His  heart  went 
out  to  them  in  a  great  yearning  pity  as  he  recalled 
his  own  enchanted  childhood. 

His  voice  was  soft  with  tears  as  he  greeted 
Kate. 

"A  more  pathetic  sight  than  this  crowd  of  silent 
children  old  earth  never  saw.  But  the  shining 
figure  in  the  centre  lights  the  shadows  with  a  touch 
of  divine  beauty." 


94  The  One  Woman 

"It  does  break  one's  heart  to  see  such  children, 
doesn't  it?"  she  answered,  looking  at  them 
tenderly  and  ignoring  his  pointed  tribute  to  her 
beauty. 

"Are  we  all  ready?"  Gordon  cried. 

"If  you  are.     Is  Mrs.  Gordon  not  coming?" 

"No;  I  couldn't  persuade  her.  She  took  our 
chicks  to  the  seashore." 

As  the  boat  moved  swiftly  up  the  great  river  in 
the  fresh  morning  air  and  the  breeze  blowing  down 
its  channel  strengthened,  they  sat  together  on  the 
after  deck  and  watched  the  dead  souls  of  the  little 
ones  stir  with  life  under  the  kiss  of  the  wind  and 
the  caress  of  the  music. 

In  the  park  they  spread  out  in  the  whispering 
stillness  of  the  woods.  Nature  breathed  the  sweet 
breath  of  her  life  into  their  hearts  again  and  they 
began  to  twist  their  queer  little  faces  and  try  to 
laugh.  They  called  to  one  another  and  listened 
with  mute  wonder  at  the  echo  among  the  rock- 
ribbed  hills.  Gordon  watched  curiously  in  their 
faces  the  flash  of  the  inherited  memory  of  forest 
habits,  choked  and  stunted  and  dormant  in  all 
city  folks,  and  yet  alive  as  long  as  the  human  heart 
beats.  Within  two  hours  they  had  grown  noisy 
with  play  after  a  timid,  clumsy  fashion. 

"Give  them  a  week  and  they  would  learn  to 
laugh  !"  Kate  exclaimed. 

But  the  man  was  now  more  interested  in  watch 
ing  the  woman  than  the  children,  as  he  saw  her 


Sweet  Danger  95 

satin  skin  flush  with  pleasure  and  the  creamy  lace 
on  her  full  bosom  rise  and  fall. 

They  sat  down  on  a  rock  beside  a  brook. 

"What  an  inspiration  to  see  this  old  yet  ever 
new  miracle  of  regeneration  unfold  under  the  magic 
touch  of  a  woman's  hand  !" 

''You  mean  a  man's  hand,"  she  replied.  "This 
would  never  have  interested  me  except  that  you  led 
me  to  see  it." 

"Then  we've  helped  one  another.  I'm  beginning 
to  feel  you  are  indispensable.  I  wonder  if  you,  too, 
will  leave  us  after  awhile  as  so  many  pass  on." 

"No;  this  has  become  my  very  life,"  she  soberly 
answered,  looking  down  at  the  ground  and  then 
into  his  face  with  frank,  open-eyed  pleasure. 

He  was  silent  for  several  minutes  and  then  softly 
laughed. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried. 

"You  could  never  guess." 

She  lifted  her  superb  arms,  showing  bare  to  the 
elbow,  and  felt  of  the  mass  of  auburn  hair.  "That 
load  of  red  hay  about  to  fall?" 

"Don't  be  sacrilegious.     No." 

"Harness  broken  anywhere?"  She  felt  of  her 
belt,  and  ran  her  hands  down  the  lines  of  her  beauti 
ful  figure,  eyeing  him  laughingly. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  sinking  his  voice  to  its 
lowest  note  of  expressive  feeling,  while  a  whimsical 
smile  played  round  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  "  Sitting 
here  in  the  woods  by  your  side  on  this  glorious 


g6  The  One  Woman 

summer  day,  your  eyes  looked  so  blue  in  the  creamy 
satin  of  your  face  I  suddenly  thought  I  smelled  the 
violets  with  which  God  mixed  their  colours." 

"You  think  of  such  silly  things,"  she  said  with 
mock  severity. 

"There's  nothing  silly  about  it.  Beauty  is  an 
attribute  of  the  divine.  I  worship  it  for  its  own 
sweet  sake  wherever  I  find  it,  in  pearl  or  opal, 
dewdrop  or  flower,  the  stars,  or  a  woman's  face  or 
form  or  eyes." 

She  lowered  her  head. 

"Do  you  know  the  old  legend  of  the  opal?"  he 
asked. 

He  took  some  stones  from  his  pocket  and  held  in 
the  light  an  opal  of  rare  luster. 

"  Isn't  it  beautiful?"  she  cried. 

"And  its  story  is  as  beautiful  as  its  face.  Listen: 
A  sunbeam  lingered  under  a  leaf  in  the  forest  at 
sunset,  loath  to  leave  so  fair  a  spot,  until  the  moon 
suddenly  rose.  Enraptured  with  the  shimmering 
beauty  of  a  moonbeam,  he  stood  entranced  and 
trembling  and  could  not  go.  In  ecstasy  they  met, 
embraced  and  kissed.  The  sun  sank  and  left  him 
in  her  arms.  The  opal  is  the  child  of  their  love.  In 
its  fair  face  is  forever  mingled  the  silver  of  the  rising 
moon  and  the  golden  glory  of  the  sunset. " 

"I  believe  you  made  that  up,"  she  laughed. 

"I  wish  I  were  poet  enough." 

"I  had  no  idea  you  dreamed  of  such  romantic 
nonsense." 


Sweet  Danger  97 

"Yes,  I  dream  many  things.  I  had  a  funny 
dream  about  you  the  other  night." 

"Tell  me  what  it  was,"  she  begged. 

"I   dare  not." 

"I  thought  you  would  dare  anything." 

"No;  you  see,  dreams  are  such  intimate,  uncon 
ventional  mysteries.  Dreams  have  no  regard  for 
law  or  custom  The  soul  and  the  body  seem  equally 
free  and  without  sin  or  shame.  I  have  a  curious 
feeling  of  awe  about  sleep  and  dreams.  It's  the 
surest  evidence  I  have  of  immortality  and  the  reality 
of  a  spiritual  life.  It  is  to  me  the  prophecy  of  the 
ideal  world,  too,  in  which  we  will  dare  to  live  some 
day  what  we  really  are,  without  pretence  or  hypoc 
risy — live  that  deep  secret  inner  life  we  try  some 
times  to  hide  from  the  eye  of  God. " 

"And  you  will  not  even  give  me  a  hint  of  this 
dream?" 

"  No.  It  was  very  foolish,  but  very  charming  and 
beautiful.  It  was  in  part  a  picture  from  that  dream 
which  made  me  laugh  awhile  ago  about  your 
eyes." 

"  I  think  it  mean  in  you  to  tell  me  that  much  and 


no  more." 


"I  would  tell  you  if  I  dared.  I  may  dare  some 
day." 

She  was  afraid  to  ask  him  after  that,  and  yet 
something  within  cried  for  joy. 

They  rose,  gathered  the  children  for  dinner,  and, 
after  three  hours  in  the  woods,  returned  to  the  city 


98  The  One  Woman 

as  the  twilight  softly  fell  over  its  ragged  steel-and- 
granite  sky-line. 

"You  must  take  tea  with  us  to-night,"  she  said, 
as  they  stepped  from  the  boat. 

His  wife  would  not  return  for  supper  and  he  con 
sented. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  spent  an  hour  at 
the  table  of  the  Ransom  household.  Mrs.  Ransom 
deemed  herself  honoured  by  his  visits,  and  his  chats 
with  the  invalid  father  about  books  were  bright 
spots  in  his  life. 

Kate  had  sent  the  stringed  band  from  the  boat  to 
the  house  and  stationed  them  in  the  conservatory 
opening  into  the  dining-room.  The  tender  strains 
of  the  music,  the  splash  of  a  fountain  mingled  with 
the  songs  of  birds  in  their  cages,  the  gleam  of  silver 
and  diamond  flash  of  cut  glass,  gave  Gordon's  senses 
a  soothing  contrast  to  the  wild  beauty  of  the  woods. 
His  nature  responded  to  art  and  luxury  as  quickly 
as  to  the  sensuous  voice  of  Nature  in  the  glory  of  her 
summer's  splendour. 

There  was  something  in  this  glittering  beauty, 
cold  and  cruel,  that  appealed  to  him.  He 
always  felt  at  home  in  such  surroundings. 
Beneath  his  idealism  and  love  of  humanity 
there  was  still  hidden  somewhere  the  nerve  of  an 
Epicurean. 

When  Kate  appeared,  dressed  for  tea,  simply  but 
richly,  with  her  splendid  neck  and  shoulders  bare 
and  little  ringlets  of  hair  curling  about  her  face  as 


Little  ringlets  of  hair  curling  about  her  face  as  though  scorched  by 
the  warmth  of  the  red  blood  below." 


Sweet  Danger  99 

though  scorched  by  the  warmth  of  the  red  blood 
below,  he  felt  the  picture  complete. 

She  chatted  with  him  before  entering  the  dining- 
room. 

Her  manner  was  always  flattering  and  frankly 
gracious,  but  to-night  there  was  an  added  note  of 
warmth  and  familiar  comradeship.  Never  had  he 
seen  her  so  charming  and  so  resistless.  Always 
intensely  conscious  of  her  sex,  she  seemed  to  have 
the  power  to-night  of  communicating  to  the  man 
before  her  that  consciousness  so  intimately,  so 
directly  and  yet  so  delicately  that  he  was  led 
captive. 

With  scarcely  a  spoken  word  their  relationship 
leaped  the  space  of  years.  The  quiver  of  her  eyelid, 
the  dilation  of  a  nostril,  little  inarticulate  exclama 
tions,  the  turn  of  her  head,  the  rising  and  falling  of 
her  bosom,  the  flash  of  her  violet  eyes,  the  subtle 
perfume  of  her  hair  or  the  graceful  movement  of  her 
magnificent  form  spoke  the  language  of  life  deep 
and  rhythmic  which  no  words  have  ever  expressed. 

He  went  home,  on  fire  with  the  dream  of  an  ideal 
life  and  work  with  such  a  woman  of  supreme  beauty. 


CHAPTER   IX 
THE  SPIDER 

THE  passing  of  a  year  added  immensely  to  the 
fame  of  the  pastor  of  the  Pilgrim  Church.  His 
sermons  now  reached  twenty  millions  of  people 
through  the  daily  press  every  Monday  morning.  It 
had  become  necessary  to  issue  tickets  of  admission 
to  the  members  and  admit  them  by  a  small  door 
that  was  cut  beside  the  large  ones. 

Van  Meter  had  ceased  to  be  of  sufficient  importance 
for  serious  notice.  The  growth  of  Gordon's  influence 
within  the  year  had  been  so  rapid,  he  found  he  had 
set  out  to  fight  a  flea  with  artillery. 

The  old  man  felt  his  eclipse  with  bitterness.  He 
had  quit  talking  much,  but  writhed  in  silent  fury  at 
the  sight  of  this  tall  athlete  with  his  conquering  gray 
eyes  and  smooth,  serious  face.  Yet  he  was  a  regular 
attendant.  The  preacher's  eloquence,  the  vibrant 
tones  of  his  voice,  full  of  passion,  or  trembling  with 
prophetic  zeal,  and  the  whole  drama  of  a  living 
militant  church  with  this  daring  revolutionist  at 
its  head,  risen  from  the  grave  of  the  old,  fascinated 
him  in  spite  of  his  hatred. 

In  the  local  development  of  the  church  Kate 
Ransom  had  become,  next  to  the  pastor,  the  most 

100 


The  Spider  YOU: 

important  factor.  She  had  shown  strong  adminis 
trative  talent,  had  organized  kindergartens,  night- 
schools  for  teaching  domestic  science  to  girls, 
established  a  reading-room,  and  opened  a  coffee 
house  on  the  corner  near  the  church,  fitting  it  up 
with  the  magnificence  of  a  saloon,  with  free  lunch 
counter,  music  and  singing.  It  was  crowded  with 
working-men  and  women  every  night. 

Her  work  had  brought  her  in  daily  contact  with 
Gordon,  and  their  comradeship  had  become  so 
constant  and  so  sweet  that  neither  of  them  dared 
face  the  problem  of  its  meaning. 

To  the  woman  the  man  had  become  little  less  than 
her  God.  Their  daily  life,  its  hopes,  its  poetry,  its 
dreams  of  social  and  civic  salvation,  were  enough  in 
themselves :  she  did  not  analyse  or  question. 

For  the  man,  this  fair  woman,  beautiful  in  face 
and  form  beyond  the  flight  of  his  fancy,  and  loyal 
in  the  worship  of  his  strength,  as  the  soul  of  the 
strong  man  ever  desires  of  his  ideal  woman,  she 
had  become  a  daily  inspiration.  And  yet  he  had 
not  acknowledged  'this  even  in  a  whisper  of  his  soul. 

In  the  meanwhile,  his  wife's  interest  in  music  had 
ceased,  and  she  was  rarely  seen  at  the  church  on 
Sundays  or  at  its  weekday  functions.  She  had 
withdrawn  from  its  life  and  had  settled  into  a  state 
of  somber  resentment. 

She  would  frequently  sit  through  a  meal  eating 
little,  speaking  in  monosyllables,  her  black  eyes 
staring,  wide  open,  and  yet  seeing  nothing,  looking 


io2  The  One  Woman 

past  the  things  that  bound  her,  back  into  the  sunlit 
years  of  girlhood,  or  forward  into  the  future  whose 
shadow's  chill  she  felt  already  on  her  soul.  Often  he 
found  her  at  night  seated  by  the  window  in  the  dark 
alone,  looking  down  on  the  city  below. 

She  had  ceased  to  ask  him  of  his  work  or  plans 
and  he  no  longer  troubled  her  with  their  discussion. 
Their  lives  were  separated  by  an  ever- widening  gulf. 

Stimulated  by  a  sermon  he  had  preached  in  August 
of  the  previous  summer,  when  the  death-rate  was  at 
its  highest,  a  wave  of  reform  had  swept  over  New 
York.  In  his  sermon  he  had  arraigned  the  city 
government  in  terms  so  trenchant  and  terrible  the 
people  had  rallied  as  to  a  trumpet  call  to  battle. 

A  resistless  movement  for  the  overthrow  of  a  cor 
rupt  administration  took  the  city  by  storm.  Day 
and  night  with  voice  and  pen,  with  all  the  fire  and 
passion  of  his  magnetic  personality,  he  had  led  these 
assaults. 

Complete  success  crowned  the  movement.  The 
reform  Mayor  was  elected  by  a  large  majority. 

Ten  months  had  passed  and  the  net  results  were 
discouraging.  Police  scandals  ran  riot  as  of  yore; 
gambling,  drinking  and  the  social  evil  flourished  as 
before;  and  the  press,  that  had  valiantly  and  almost 
unanimously  championed  Reform,  now  exhausted 
upon  it  the  vocabulary  of  abuse. 

Gordon  was  disgusted  and  sickened  and  felt  that 
one  of  his  fairest  dreams  had  been  shattered  forever. 

The  reaction  from  this  reform  programme  had 


The  Spider  103 

thrown  him  more  than  ever  back  upon  his  ideas  of  a 
Socialistic  revolution  which  should  destroy  Com 
mercialism  itself,  and  he  had  become  its  enthusiastic 
champion. 

Kate  Ransom  had  followed  his  change  of  views 
with  keenest  sympathy.  She  had  read  every  book 
after  him  and  had  responded  to  his  every  mood. 

"No;  we're  on  the  wrong  tack,  with  our  half-way 
measures  and  our  fitful  charities,"  he  said  to  her. 

"We  must  go  deeper.  We  must  make  the  Father 
hood  of  God  and  the  Brotherhood  of  Man  our  daily 
life,  not  merely  a  poetic  theory. 

"We  have  hundreds  of  beautiful-souled  men  and 
women  giving  their  lives  in  sacrifice  for  the  city's 
poor  and  fallen.  They  seem  to  make  little  impression 
on  its  ocean  of  misery.  We  are  bailing  out  the  sea 
with  teaspoons." 

"I  feel  you  are  right,  as  you  always  are,"  she 
responded,  unconscious  of  the  contradiction. 

"The  Brotherhood  of  Man  and  the  Solidarity  of 
the  Race  we  must  make  vital  realities.  Greed, 
commercialism,  competition  and  the  monopolistic 
instincts  are  the  cause  of  all  this  crime  and  misery 
and  confusion.  Love,  not  force,  must  rule  the 
world." 

"And  you  are  the  prophet  to  lead  humanity  into 
this  Kingdom  of  Love,"  she  said,  her  eyes  enfolding 
him  with  their  soft  blue  light. 

"I  fear  I'm  too  great  a  coward  for  such  a  task. 
The  man  who  does  it  must  break  with  the  past, 


104  The  One  Woman 

become  accursed  for  the  truth's  sake,  defy  social 
law  and  convention,  breast  the  storm  of  the  world's 
hate,  die  despised,  and  wait  for  a  nobler  genera 
tion  to  place  his  name  on  the  roll  of  the  world's 
heroes." 

" It  is  your  work,"  she  cried  with  elation. 

''It's  a  lonely  way  for  the  soul  to  travel." 

"You  will  have  one  loyal  follower  the  blackest 
hour  of  the  darkest  night  that  comes." 

A  curious  smile  played  around  her  full  lips,  and 
he  looked  away,  afraid  to  say  anything. 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  he  softly  answered.  "And 
I'm  more  afraid  for  that  very  reason." 

"I'm  not  afraid." 

Her  voice  rang  clear  and  thrilling. 

"I  wonder  if  you  know  the  meaning  of  such  words ; 
or  if  you  are  thinking  of  one  thing  and  I  of  another  ?" 
he  slowly  asked. 

"I  dare  to  think  many  things  I've  never  dared 
to  say,"  she  replied. 

"A  break  must  come  sooner  or  later,"  he  went  on. 
"No  man  of  my  temperament  and  brain  can  live 
under  the  conditions  here,  feel  the  grip  of  this 
cruelty  on  the  throat  of  humanity,  read  and  think, 
and  endure  it." 

"It  seems  to  me  a  social  revolution  must  come 
quickly." 

"I  wondered  if  you  had  felt  that  ?"  Gordon  asked, 
as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  locked  his  power 
ful  hands  behind  his  head.  "This  presentiment  of 


The  Spider  105 

overwhelming  change  haunts  me  day  and  night  and 
makes  many  things  seem  childish  and  futile. 

"Ill  and  feverish  from  overwork  one  day  last 
week,  I  stood  by  my  window,  looking  down  on  the 
city,  dreaming  and  listening  to  its  cries  for  help, 
watching  the  sweep  of  the  elevated  trains  coming 
and  going,  and  I  was  overwhelmed  with  the  immens 
ity  of  its  complex  life.  Our  hurrying  cars  carry 
within  the  corporate  limits  daily  more  passengers 
than  all  the  railroads  of  the  western  hemisphere. 
I  thought  of  the  rivers  of  human  flesh  that  flow 
unceasingly  through  its  streets  and  flood  its  market 
places.  And  these  millions  are  but  one  wave  of 
the  ocean  forever  breaking  on  the  shores  of  time, 
its  tides  everlasting,  insistent,  resistless,  never 
pausing,  behind  them  the  pressure  of  the  heaped 
centuries,  and  over  them  the  lowering  clouds  of 
fresh  storms  soon  to  burst  and  add  their  tons." 

He  paused  and  closed  his  eyes  as  though  to  shut 
out  the  roar,  while  she  listened  with  half-parted 
lips. 

"And  as  I  looked  out  the  window  I  had  a  startling 
experience.  I  saw  a  huge  dragon-like  beast  begin 
to  crawl  slowly  down  from  the  hills  and  stretch  his 
big  claws  over  the  housetops  of  the  city  below.  I 
was  not  asleep  or  in  a  trance,  but  wide  awake,  only 
a  little  feverish.  With  increasing  horror  I  watched 
this  monster  stretch  his  enormous  body,  covered  with 
scales,  and  short  hair  growing  between  the  scales, 
on  and  on,  until  he  covered  the  city  and  gathered 


io6  The  One  Woman 

its  thousands  of  houses  within  his  huge  paws.  His 
eyes  were  enormous  and  blood -red,  his  breath  hot. 

"I  moved  back,  gasping  with  surprise  and  horror, 
to  find  it  was  only  a  spider  crawling  down  his  slender 
thread  on  the  window  close  to  my  eye.  It  was  a 
fevered  delusion,  but  it  haunted  me  for  days,  and 
haunts  me  still. 

"I  am  growing  in  the  conviction  that  the  very 
foundations  of  morals  are  shifting,  and  that  Religion, 
Society  and  Civilisation  must  readjust  themselves  or 
humanity  sink  into  unspeakable  degradation. 

"Belief  in  the  old  religious  authority  is  gone.  Our 
church  is  thronged  because  of  a  peculiar  personal 
power  with  which  I  am  endowed.  I  could  wield  that 
power  without  a  church,  society,  creed  or  Bible. 
Esthetic  forces  now  draw  people  to  non-ritualistic 
churches  that  once  came  for  prayer  and  preaching. 
The  preacher  must  secularise  his  sermon  or  talk 
to  vacant  pews.  Historic  Christianity  has  been 
destroyed  by  Criticism.  A  thousand  wild  Isms 
flourish  in  the  twilight  of  this  eclipse  of  Faith,  while 
Materialism  and  the  Pursuit  of  Pleasure  strangle 
out  spiritual  hopes." 

"And  you  are  the  seer  called  to  lead  out  of  this 
chaos,"  the  woman  whispered.  "I  know  this  from 
my  own  life.  But  for  you  I  would  be  listening  to 
idiotic  platitudes,  cultivating  sham,  my  very  soul 
'crucified  between  a  whimper  and  a  smile.'  I  owe 
it  to  you  that  I  am  a  woman — not  a  cross  between 
an  angel  and  an  idiot," 


The  Spider  107 

The  passion  with  which  she  said  this,  bending  her 
beautiful  face,  flushed  with  emotion,  so  close  to  his 
that  he  caught  the  perfume  of  her  mass  of  waving 
hair,  went  to  the  man's  head  like  wine. 

"Why  not  spring  our  building  scheme  on  the 
people  at  once,  without  authority  from  the  Board  of 
Trustees,  and  make  it  the  rallying  cry  of  the  new 
Humanity?"  he  cried  eagerly. 

"I  believe  it  will  succeed,"  she  answered,  her  heart 
glowing  with  the  consciousness  of  the  intimacy  of 
that  little  word  "our"  he  had  used. 

She  got  pad  and  pencil,  and  Gordon  dictated  to  her 
a  plan  for  engaging  every  force  of  the  church  and 
its  congregation  and  various  societies  in  the  project. 

He  fixed  the  Sunday  on  which  to  make  the  effort 
of  his  life  in  his  appeal  to  the  people  of  his  congre 
gation  and  the  world  for  the  million-dollar  fund 
needed.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  they  finished 
the  discussion  of  the  scheme,  and  aglow  with  enthusi 
asm  he  left  for  his  home. 

As  he  sat  down  in  the  car  and  lived  over  again  his 
happiness  of  the  past  hours  in  this  woman's  com 
panionship  the  paradox  of  his  return  in  a  few 
minutes  to  the  arms  of  his  wife  struck  him  squarely 
in  the  face  for  the  first  time. 

He  could  not  plead  a  mistake  in  his  first  love. 
His  romance  was  genuine.  He  had  loved  with  all 
the  fire  of  his  youth.  The  passion  which  drew  him 
to  Ruth  was  mutual  and  resistless.  Yet  its  ardour 
had  cooled.  He  could  not  say  it  was  his  fault,  nor 


io8  The  One  Woman 

altogether  hers.  It  seemed  as  inevitable  in  its 
decline  as  its  onrush  was  resistless.  Yet  at  the 
thought  of  this  new  woman  he  felt  his  heart  beat  with 
quicker  stroke.  He  was  older  and  stronger  than 
the  youth  of  the  past,  and  the  woman  more  mature 
in  the  ripened  glory  of  beauty. 

Yet  he  began  to  recall  with  infinite  tenderness 
the  love  life  with  Ruth.  Its  memories  were  very 
real  and  very  sweet.  And  the  faces  of  his  children 
haunted  him  with  strange  power.  The  idea  of  a 
divorce  from  Ruth  and  the  loss  of  these  children 
cut  him  with  sharp  pain. 

Had  he  outgrown  his  first  love?  Could  he  con 
tinue  to  live  with  one  woman  if  he  loved  another? 
Was  not  this  the  one  unpardonable  sin  and  shame  ? 
And  yet  to  break  that  bond  and  form  the  other  if 
he  could  meant  the  end  of  associations  in  which 
the  fibers  of  his  very  life  were  wrought. 

But  was  not  this  one  of  the  burning  problems  of 
the  new  humanity,  this  freedom  of  the  soul  and  body, 
this  new  birth  into  the  liberty  and  love  of  a  great 
Brotherhood?  Was  not  sham  and  hypocrisy  now 
the  law  of  life,  and  was  not  Society  perishing 
because  of  it? 

Thus  wrestling  with  the  tragic  dilemma  he  felt 
closing  about  him,  he  went  past  his  station  to  the 
end  of  the  line  and  had  to  take  the  down  train 
back.  It  was  past  midnight  when  he  reached  his 
home. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE    BLACK    CAT 

WHEN  Van  Meter  heard  of  the  scheme  to  appeal 
directly  to  the  people  to  build  the  temple  in  defiance 
of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  who  were  the  legal  mana 
gers  of  the  church's  property,  he  was  thunderstruck. 

When  the  Sunday  arrived  he  came  half  an  hour 
earlier  than  usual  to  watch  every  incident  of  the  day 
with  his  little  black  eyes  open  their  widest. 

It  was  a  crisp  November  morning.  Recent  rains 
had  washed  the  streets  clean,  the  wind  was  blowing 
fresh,  the  sky  was  cloudless  and  the  sun  lit  in  cool 
gleaming  splendour  every  avenue  and  park  of  the 
great  city. 

The  people  had  returned  from  their  country  places 
and  the  hotels  were  thronged  with  merchants  and 
visitors  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth. 

An  enormous  crowd  squeezed  into  every  inch  of 
space  the  police  would  allow  to  be  filled  in  the 
church,  and  hundreds  were  turned  away,  unable  to 
gain  admission. 

Gordon  had  spent  the  entire  day  and  night  before 
in  an  agony  of  preparation,  and  had  not  left  his 
study  until  two  o'clock  Sunday  morning.  He  took 
his  seat  in  the  pulpit  trembling  with  anxiety.  The 

109 


no  The  One  Woman 

organ  burst  into  the  strains  of  the  Doxology  and  the 
crowd  rose.  He  stood  with  folded  hands  looking 
over  the  sea  of  faces,  and  his  heart  began  to  ache 
with  an  agony  of  suspense  and  fear  of  failure. 

The  singing  ceased,  and  every  head  bent  as  he 
lifted  his  big  hand,  with  its  blue  veins  standing  out 
like  a  net  of  steel  wires,  and  pronounced  a  brief 
invocation. 

When  he  read  the  hymn,  the  people  felt  in  his 
voice  the  shock  of  a  storm  of  pent-up  emotion.  He 
read  it  slowly,  beautifully,  and  with  exquisite 
tenderness. 

While  they  sang  he  sat  with  his  elbow  on  the  little 
table  on  which  stood  a  vase  of  roses,  his  face  resting 
thoughtfully  on  his  left  hand,  studying  the  people, 
his  soul  on  fire  with  the  sense  of  their  infinite 
needs. 

Crouching  low  in  his  seat  under  the  left  gallery, 
he  saw  a  man  who  had  confessed  a  great  wrong  and 
was  searching  for  peace. 

At  a  post  on  the  right,  in  a  seat  where  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  see  a  working-girl  for  the  past  two 
years,  a  stranger  sat.  The  girl  was  found  dead  in 
her  room  the  week  before.  She  had  lost  her  place 
because  she  wore  shabby  clothes,  and  she  wore 
shabby  clothes  because  she  had  been  sending  her 
earnings  to  her  home  in  Connecticut,  supporting 
an  aged  father,  mother  and  a  worthless  brother. 

The  rich,  the  poor,  the  old,  the  young,  the  outcast, 
the  publican  and  sinner,  the  strange  woman  and  the 


The  Black  Cat  in 

sweet  face  of  innocent  girlhood  were  there  looking 
up  at  him  for  guidance  and  help. 

But  outnumbering  all  were  massed  rows  of  clean- 
faced  young  men  whom  his  enthusiasm  had  drawn 
resistlessly.  His  heart  went  out  to  them  in  yearning 
sympathy,  fighting  their  battles  in  the  morning  of 
life  with  the  powers  and  princes  of  the  spirit  world 
for  the  mastery  of  the  soul. 

He  felt  the  sledge-hammer  blow  of  their  united 
heart-beat  strike  his  brain  with  the  pain  of  a 
bludgeon. 

The  agony  of  fear  was  now  upon  him.  He  saw 
Van  Meter  sitting  in  the  central  tier  of  seats  watching 
him  sharply  out  of  his  little  half -closed  eyes,  the 
incarnate  sign  of  the  mortal  enmity  of  organised 
wealth,  and  he  must  appeal  for  money. 

His  great  crowd  had  infinite  needs,  but  much 
money  they  did  not  have.  He  thought  with  hope 
of  the  twenty  millions  of  people  who  read  his  sermons 
on  Monday  morning,  and  of  a  dozen  big-hearted 
men  of  wealth  he  knew  in  the  city,  and  he  was 
cheered. 

He  had  prepared  a  most  powerful  sermon  on 
the  text,  "The  common  people  heard  Him  gladly. " 
He  felt  they  could  not  resist  his  appeal.  And  yet  in 
spite  of  himself  his  gaze  would  wander  back  to  Van 
Meter,  drawn  by  his  black  eyes  as  by  the  charm  of 
an  adder. 

The  Deacon  was  wondering,  as  he  watched  him, 
what  could  possibly  be  the  outcome  of  this  daring 


ii2  The  One  Woman 

insanity.  He  had  been  fooled  so  often  by  the  power 
of  this  athletic  dreamer,  he  feared  to  predict  the 
end,  though  he  felt  certain  what  it  would  be. 

The  services  were  unusually  impressive.  Special 
music  had  been  prepared  by  the  choir  and 
rendered  magnificently.  Gordon  read  the  hymns 
and  Scripture  with  a  feeling  so  intense  the 
people  were  thrilled.  His  prayer  had  been 
simple  and  heartfelt,  and  had  melted  scores 
of  people  to  tears. 

He  rose  and  faced  the  crowd  with  the  keenest 
sense  of  solemnity.  The  hour  was  propitious;  he 
could  feel  the  hearts  of  the  people  beat  responsive  to 
his  slightest  tone,  word  or  gesture. 

As  he  swept  rapidly  through  his  introduction 
and  into  his  theme  he  knew  he  was  holding 
these  thousands  of  breathless  listeners  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  He  could  feel  their  heart 
strings  quiver  as  he  touched  them  with  tender 
ness  or  struck  them  with  some  mighty  thought. 

His  soul  was  singing  with  triumph,  when  suddenly 
a  ripple  of  laughter  ran  along  the  front  tier  of  the 
gallery,  and  a  hundred  heads  were  turned  upward 
to  see  what  the  disturbance  meant. 

Had  a  bolt  of  lightning  struck  his  spinal  column 
he  could  not  have  been  more  shocked. 

He  repeated  mechanically  the  last  sentence  in  a 
dazed  sort  of  way,  and  a  louder  ripple  of  laughter 
ran  the  entire  length  of  both  galleries  and  echoed 
through  the  main  floor. 


The  Black  Cat  113 

He  stopped,  fumbled  at  his  notes,  and  turned  red. 
The  people  before  him  were  smiling  and  craning 
their  necks  to  see  more  plainly  something  on  the 
wide  platform  of  the  pulpit. 

He  suddenly  got  the  insane  idea  that  a  fiend  had 
thrust  his  head  in  the  door  behind  him  and  was 
mocking  and  grinning. 

He  turned  and  looked,  and  there  sat  an  impudent 
little  back  cat  with  big  yellow  eyes. 

She  had  been  sitting  on  her  haunches  blinking  at 
him  when  he  raised  his  voice  or  gestured,  and  the 
crowd  has  never  yet  gathered  on  this  earth  in  the 
temple  of  Baal  or  Jehovah  that  can  resist  a  cat 
accompaniment  to  the  functions  of  a  priest. 

When  Gordon  looked  the  little  cat  full  in  the  face, 
she  liked  him  at  once,  and  in  the  softest,  friendliest 
treble  said: 

"Meow!" 

And  the  crowd  burst  into  incontrollable  laughter. 

At  first  the  full  import  of  the  situation  did  not 
reach  his  mind,  he  was  so  stunned  with  surprise. 
He  stood  looking  at  the  cat  in  helpless  stupor,  and 
blushing  red.  And  then  the  sickening  certainty 
crushed  him  that  the  day  was  lost;  that  it  was 
beyond  the  power  of  human  genius,  or  the  reach  of 
the  spirit  of  God,  to  remove  that  cat  and  regain 
control  of  his  audience. 

He  turned  sick  with  anger  and  humiliation,  and 
his  big  bear-like  hands  clasped  his  sheet  of  notes  and 
slowly  crushed  them. 


ii4  The  One  Woman 

He  continued  to  look  at  the  cat  and  she  cocked 
her  head  to  one  side,  opened  her  yellow  eyes  wider 
and,  slowly,  in  grieved  accents  said  : 

"M-e-o-w!" 

Which  unmistakably  meant,  "I'm  very  sorry  you 
don't  like  me  as  well  as  I  do  you. " 

Again  the  crowd  laughed. 

Gordon  stepped  backward  and  bent  slowly  over 
the  cat.  She  did  not  look  very  bright,  but  she  was 
too  shrewd  for  that  movement. 

The  crowd  watched  breathlessly.  He  grasped  at 
her. 

She  sprang  quickly  to  one  side,  bowed  her  back, 
bushed  her  tail,  and  scampered  across  the  platform 
crying : 

"Pist!  pist!"  and  ran  up  the  column  that  sup 
ported  the  end  of  the  gallery. 

The  preacher's  empty  hand  struck  the  bare  floor, 
and  the  crowd  was  convulsed. 

A  young  man  sitting  in  the  gallery  near  the  column 
caught  the  cat  as  she  climbed  over  the  rail,  ran  to  a 
window  and  was  about  to  throw  her  down  to  the 
pavement  twenty  feet  below. 

Gordon  lifted  his  hand  and  cried: 

"Don't  do  that,  young  man — don't  hurt  her; 
bring  her  here. " 

It  had  suddenly  occurred  to  the  preacher  as  he 
watched  Van  Meter  bending  low  in  his  pew  overcome 
with  laughter,  that  he  had  stooped  to  this  contempti 
ble  trick  to  defeat  him  and  make  the  solemnest  hour 


The  Black  Cat  115 

of  life  ridiculous.  He  knew  the  Deacon  had  come 
to  the  church  earlier  than  usual.  He  was  sure  he 
had  done  it. 

A  curious  smile  began  to  play  about  his  lips,  and  a 
cold  glitter  came  into  his  steel-gray  eyes. 

He  took  the  cat  in  his  arms  and  stroked  her  gently. 
She  purred  and  rubbed  her  face  against  his  and 
moved  her  feet  up  and  down,  sheathing  and 
unsheathing  her  claws  in  his  robe  with  evident 
delight. 

The  crowd  grew  still.  Instinctively  they  knew 
that  something  big  was  happening  in  the  soul  of  the 
man  they  were  watching. 

"This  little  cat,  my  friends,"  he  said,  "is  an 
innocent  actor  in  a  tragedy  this  morning — but  she 
is  the  agent  of  one  who  is  not  innocent. " 

He  fixed  his  gaze  on  Van  Meter,  who  stirred  with 
uneasy  amazement. 

"They  say  that  cats  sometimes  incarnate  the 
souls  of  dead  men.  This  one  is  the  soul  of  a  living 
man,  my  good  friend,  Deacon  Arnold  Van  Meter, 
who  had  her  brought  here  this  morning. " 

The  Deacon  turned  red,  drew  his  head  down  as 
though  he  would  pull  it  within  his  shoulders,  and 
shrank  from  the  gaze  of  the  crowd. 

Gordon  handed  the  cat  back  to  the  young  man, 
whispered  something  to  him,  and  he  disappeared. 

Then,  walking  up  to  the  pulpit,  he  snatched  off 
its  crimson  cloth  and  threw  it  behind  him.  He 
ran  his  big  muscular  hands  into  the  throat  of  his 


n6  The  One  Woman 

robe,  ripped  it  open,  tore  it  from  his  arms,  crushed 
it  into  a  shapeless  mass  and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 
He  snatched  up  the  golden  lectern  pulpit,  hurled 
it  back  into  the  corner,  and  moved  the  little  table 
with  its  vase  of  roses  into  its  place.  He  did  this 
quickly,  without  a  word  or  an  exclamation  to 
break  the  awful  stillness  with  which  the  crowd 
watched  him. 

They  knew  that  a  tremendous  drama  was  being 
enacted  before  them.  So  intense  was  the  excite 
ment  the  people  on  the  back  tiers  of  the  galleries 
sprang  impulsively  to  their  feet  and  stood  on  the 
pews. 

Van  Meter's  eyes  danced  with  wild  amazement 
as  he  straightened  himself  up,  sure  Gordon  had 
gone  mad.  But  when  he  advanced  to  the  edge  of 
the  platform,  looking  a  foot  taller  in  his  long  black 
Prince  Albert  coat,  folded  his  giant  arms  across 
his  breast,  the  nostrils  of  his  great  aquiline  nose 
dilated,  his  lips  quivering,  and  looked  straight  into 
Van  Meter's  face,  the  Deacon  saw  there  was  danger 
ous  method  in  his  madness. 

His  eyes  blazing  with  pent-up  passion,  he  began 
in  deliberate  tones  an  extempore  address. 

In  a  moment  the  air  was  charged  with  the  thrill 
of  his  powerful  personality  wrought  to  the  highest 
tension  of  emotional  power. 

"My  friends,"  he  began,  "there  are  moments  in 
our  experience  when  we  live  a  lifetime — moments 
in  which  the  hair  of  our  heads  turns  gray,  a  soul  dies 


Ripped  it  open,  tore  it  from  his  arms,  and  threw  it  on 
the  floor." 


The  Black  Cat  117 

within  a  living  body,  or  a  dead  one  rises,  shakes  off 
its  grave  clothes,  and  lifts  its  head  in  the  sunlight. 

"From  this  hour  I  am  a  free  man.  I  will  live 
what  I  am,  and  speak  what  I  feel  to  be  the  truth. 
The  truth  shall  be  its  own  justification.  I  will 
wear  no  robes,  mumble  no  ceremonies,  call  no  man 
Rabbi,  and  permit  no  man  to  call  me  Rabbi.  I 
proclaim  the  universal  priesthood  of  believers. 

"While  I  am  your  pastor  the  Kitchen  Mission 
in  which  we  have  gathered  the  poor  on  the  East 
Side  will  be  closed  at  the  hour  of  service,  and  all 
-  God's  children  shall  enter  this  house  because  it  is 
their  Father's !" 

Van  Meter  shrank  back  in  his  pew  as  a  ripple  of 
applause  ran  round  the  galleries. 

"If  men  ask  a  sign  to-day  whether  the  Church 
of  the  living  God  exists  in  New  York,  what  is  our 
answer  ? 

"  Look  about  you.  New  York  is  the  centre  of  the 
commerce,  society,  art,  literature  and  politics  of  the 
Western  World.  Her  port,  in  which  fly  the  flags  of 
every  nation,  is  the  gateway  of  two  worlds.  The 
feet  of  four  millions  daily  press  her  pavements. 
Her  walls  frame  the  furnace  in  which  are  being 
tried  by  fire  the  faiths,  hopes  and  dreams  of  the 
centuries  past  and  to  come.  In  mere  volume  of 
population  she  is  the  equal  of  three  great  Atlantic 
states:  Virginia,  North  and  South  Carolina.  One 
man  alone  of  her  millions  of  citizens  possesses 
wealth  greater  than  the  valuation  of  all  the  property 


n8  The  One  Woman 

of  the  State  of  North  Carolina,  the  cradle  of  American 
democracy,  containing  fifty  thousand  square  miles 
and  supporting  a  population  of  a  million  six  hundred 
thousand. 

''In  the  roar  of  this  modern  Babylon  beats  the 
fevered  heart  of  modern  civilisation.  He  who  wins 
that  heart  holds  the  key  to  the  century.  Imperial 
Rome,  mistress  of  the  world,  was  a  pygmy  compared 
to  this. 

"And  what  are  we  doing? 

"  Our  Protestant  churches  have  thirty-five  thou 
sand  men  and  one  hundred  thousand  women 
enrolled  out  of  two  millions  on  Manhattan  Island. 
Our  invested  capital  is  one  hundred  million  dollars, 
our  annual  gifts  four  millions,  and  we  fail  to  hold 
one-half  the  children  born  in  our  own  homes. 

"As  a  remedy  for  this  the  Trustees  proposed  to 
me  to  sell  out  and  move  uptown  to  vacant  lots ! 
They  say  the  people  have  gone.  They  have  come 
— come  in  such  numbers  and  with  such  problems 
churches  have  fled  before  the  avalanche  of  humanity. 

"  Within  a  stone's  throw  of  this  church  are  districts 
in  which  ten  men  and  women  sleep  in  one  room 
twelve  feet  square.  New  York  is  the  most  crowded 
city  in  the  world.  London  has  seven  people  to  a 
house ;  we  have  sixteen.  In  two  houses  were  found 
the  other  day  one  hundred  and  thirty-six  children. 
Death  stalks  through  these  crowded  alleys  with 
scythe  ever  swinging. 

"Shall  we,  too,  desert? 


The  Black  Cat  119 

"I  hear  the  tread  of  coming  thousands  from 
these  shadows  who  will  laugh  at  your  flag,  who 
know  not  the  name  of  your  President,  or  your  God, 
whose  heavy  hands  upon  your  doors  will  summon 
you  before  the  tribunal  of  the  knife,  the  torch,  the 
bomb  to  make  good  your  right  to  live. 

"When  your  population  shall  number  ten  millions, 
and  the  gulf  between  the  rich  and  poor  shall  have 
become  impassable,  some  gigantic  corner  shall  have 
doubled  the  price  of  bread,  starvation  spread  her 
black  wings,  and  idle  thousands  sullen  and  desperate 
begin  to  look  with  darkening  brows  on  your  unpro 
tected  wealth,  then  will  come  the  test  of  modern 
society. 

"This  growth  of  the  city  is  as  resistless  and 
inevitable  as  the  movement  of  time.  Why  people 
continue  to  turn  their  backs  upon  the  open  fields 
and  crowd  into  this  'great  foul,  rattling,  crawling, 
smoking,  stinking,  ghastly  heap  of  fermenting 
brickwork,  oozing  poison  at  every  pore,'  is  beyond 
my  ken,  but  they  come.  They  come  each  year  in 
hundreds,  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands,  crowd 
ing  the  crowded  trades,  crowding  closer  the  crowded 
dens  in  which  human  beings  whelp  and  stable  as 
beasts.  They  leave  friends  and  neighbours  who 
love  them,  leave  earth  for  hell,  and  still  they  come. 
The  tenement,  huge  monster  of  modern  greed, 
engulfs  them,  and  the  word  home  is  stricken  from 
their  tongue. 

"They  tell  us  that  yesterday  a  man  in  a  fit  of 


120  The  One  Woman 

insanity  murdered  his  wife  and  two  daughters. 
Insanity  ?  Love  has  its  hours  when  death  becomes 
beautiful.  Poets  sing  of  old  Virginius  who  slew  his 
daughter  to  save  her  from  dishonour.  May  it  not 
be  better  to  die  a  man  than  live  a  beast  ? 

"There  are  conditions  about  us  where  suicide 
is  a  luxury  and  the  death  of  a  child  a  joy.  They 
are  gathered  to  the  Potters'  Field,  but  they  rest. 
We  pile  them  one  on  top  of  the  other  in  big  black 
trenches,  but  the  dawn  does  not  call  them  to  beastly 
toil.  Their  little  forms  moulder,  but  they  no  longer 
cry  for  bread  and  their  pinched  faces  no  longer  try 
to  smile.  They  are  safe  in  Death's  land-locked 
harbour. 

"Last  year  the  deaths  on  this  island  numbered 
forty  thousand.  Ten  thousand — one  in  four — were 
buried  from  hospitals,  jails,  almshouses,  asylums 
and  workhouses.  I  have  been  assailed  by  a  deacon 
of  this  church  because  I  no  longer  preach  hell. 
Why  preach  hell  to  people  who  expect  to  better 
their  condition  in  the  next  world  whether  they  go 
up  or  down? 

' '  I  am  here  henceforth  to  proclaim  the  acceptable 
year  of  the  Lord,  the  healing  of  the  bruised,  the 
release  of  the  captive,  and  to  preach  the  Gospel 
to  the  poor. 

"Let  snobs  and  apes  hear  me.  Democracy  is 
the  goal  of  the  race,  the  destiny  of  the  world. 
American  Democracy  is  but  a  hundred  years  old, 
yet  not  one  crowned  head  is  left  on  the  western 


The  Black  Cat  121 

hemisphere.  Crowns,  thrones,  scepters,  titles, 
privileges  belong  to  the  past;  they  are  doomed. 
The  people  already  rule  the  world.  Emperors, 
kings  and  presidents  exist,  not  by  the  grace  of  God, 
but  by  the  consent  of  the  people,  to  whom  they 
give  account  of  their  stewardship.  Empires  are 
the  dungheaps  out  of  which  democracies  grow. 

"The  historian  writes  of  the  common  people. 
Once  of  kings  and  princes  were  their  stories.  The 
eyes  of  the  world  are  on  the  masses.  Science  toils 
to  make  Nature  their  servant.  Art  portrays  their 
life.  Literature,  once  a  clown  at  the  feet  of  Fortune's 
fools,  now  writes  of  the  people.  Wealth  lays  its 
tribute  at  their  feet.  The  millionaire,  who  dies 
to-day  grasping  his  millions  as  his  own,  is  hissed 
while  he  lives,  openly  cursed  while  he  lies  cold  in 
death,  and  forgotten  in  contempt. 

"Outside  the  history  of  the  common  people  there 
is  nothing  worth  recording.  They  are  mankind. 
As  a  half -million  miles  make  no  difference  in  the 
vast  distance  to  the  sun  in  figuring  an  eclipse,  so 
the  classes  may  be  disregarded. 

"Jesus  Christ  was  the  carpenter's  son.  His  home 
was  humble,  His  birth  lowly.  He  was  born  poor, 
lived  and  died  poor.  The  foxes  had  holes,  the 
birds  of  the  air  nests,  but  He  had  not  where  to  lay 
His  head.  Our  robes  and  altar  cloths,  our  tin  and 
tinsel,  were  not  His. 

"When  John  Wesley  raised  his  voice  for  the 
people  the  Church  of  England  had  the  opportunity 


122  The  One  Woman 

to  become  the  Church  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  that 
is  now  conquering  the  world.  They  called  him  a 
liar,  a  hypocrite,  a  Jesuit,  a  devil,  cast  him  out, 
and  the  opportunity  passed  forever. 

"I  see  a  man  before  me  who  hates  this  big  crowd 
and  yet  expects  to  go  to  heaven.  Heaven  is  the 
home  of  millions — 'a  great  multitude  which  no  man 
could  number,'  says  the  seer.  Hell  is  the  home  of 
swell  society." 

The  words  leaped  from  Gordon's  lips  a  rushing 
torrent  and  swept  the  crowd.  Growing  each 
moment  more  and  more  conscious  of  his  strength, 
he  attained  the  heights  of  eloquence.  Intoxicated 
with  the  reflex  action  from  the  sea  of  eager  listeners, 
he  outdid  himself  with  each  succeeding  climax  of 
feeling.  Never  had  his  voice  been  so  deep,  so  full, 
so  clear,  so  penetrating,  so  thrilling,  and  never  had 
he  been  so  conscious  of  its  control.  Not  once  did 
it  break.  Its  loudest  trumpet  note  echoed  with 
sure  roundness. 

When  he  turned  his  eyes  from  Van  Meter  after 
his  first  assault  they  rested  on  the  face  of  Kate 
Ransom,  her  magnificent  figure  tense,  rigid,  her 
cheeks  scarlet,  her  blue  eyes  flashing  with  tears  of 
excitement.  She  was  stirred  to  her  soul's  depths, 
and  no  figure  in  all  the  throbbing  crowd  gave  to  the 
speaker  such  inspiring  response.  Her  face  flashed 
back  as  from  a  mirror  every  throb  of  thought  and 
stroke  of  his  heart. 

Van    Meter    gazed    on    him    hypnotised   by   the 


. 


The  Black  Cat  123 

violence  of  his  onrush.  When  Gordon  would  sud 
denly  lift  his  enormous  blue-veined  hand  high  over 
his  head  in  an  impassioned  gesture  the  Deacon 
cowered  unconsciously  beneath  his  towering  figure. 

Pausing  a  moment,  while  the  crowd  held  its 
breath,  watching  every  movement  and  every  twitch 
of  a  muscle  of  his  face,  he  pointed  his  long  finger 
at  the  Deacon  and  continued : 

"And,  as  if  to  mock  intelligence,  Tradition  raises 
the  feeble  cry  of  reminiscent  senility,  '  Back  to  the 
old  paths ! ' 

"  Protestantism  is  the  rebellion  of  reason  against 
the  shackles  of  authority.  Our  conscience  fettered 
by  tradition  stultifies  its  own  life.  We  must  go 
forward  or  die. 

"Theology  is  a  science,  religion  a  life.  The  one 
is  a  fact,  the  other  an  analysis  after  the  fact.  The 
stage-coach  yielded  to  the  limited,  the  sailing  craft 
to  the  ocean  greyhound,  but  we  are  told  that  the 
only  age  that  ever  knew  the  truth,  or  had  the  right 
to  express  it,  was  the  age  which  burned  witches, 
executed  dumb  animals  as  criminals,  whipped 
church  bells  for  heresy,  held  chemistry  a  black  art 
and  electricity  a  manifestation  of  the  devil  or  the 
Shekina  of  God. 

"The  men  to  whom  I  speak  have  seen  New  York 
grow  from  a  to\vn  of  three  hundred  thousand  on  the 
lower  end  of  Manhattan  Island  to  be  the  imperial 
metropolis  of  the  New  World  with  four  millions 
within  her  golden  gates. 


124  The  One  Woman 

"Within  a  generation,  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  a 
dream  in  the  brain  of  a  man,  has  spun  its  spider 
web  of  steel  across  the  river,  our  buildings  grown 
from  four  stories  to  towering  castles  of  steel  with 
their  flag-staffs  in  the  clouds. 

"Our  nation  has  been  baptised  in  blood  and  a 
new  Constitution  established. 

"The  German  Empire  has  been  created,  and  a 
new  map  of  the  world  made. 

"Steam  and  electricity  have  been  applied  to 
travel  and  speech,  and  the  earth  transformed  into 
a  whispering  gallery.  The  cylinder  press  has  pro 
claimed  universal  education,  and  the  dynamo 
crowned  the  brow  of  humanity  with  a  coronet  of 
light. 

"But  our  churches  in  New  York  have  merely 
moved  uptown  !  Their  methods  are  the  methods 
of  their  fathers — a  solecism,  stupid,  irrational, 
immoral. 

"The  superstition  that  seeks  to  limit  the  horizon 
of  the  soul  to  the  bounds  of  ancestral  tradition  has 
ever  been  the  deadliest  foe  of  human  hope.  Doubt 
is  the  vestibule  of  knowledge.  They  who  doubt, 
rebel  and  disobey  have  ever  led  the  shining  way  of 
progress  and  of  life. 

"Your  Traditionalists  crucified  the  Christ.  They 
declared  him  to  be  the  friend  of  publicans  and 
harlots. 

"Since  then  they  have  covered  the  Church  with 
the  infamy  of  cruelty  and  blood,  flame,  sword, 


The  Black  Cat  125 

thumb-screw,  rack  and  torch.  The  blackest  pages 
in  the  story  of  the  martyrdom  of  man  have  been 
written  by  their  hands.  They  sent  Alva  into  the 
Netherlands  to  sweep  it  with  fire.  They  revoked 
the  edict  of  Nantes  until  the  soil  of  France  was 
drunk  with  the  blood  of  her  children.  They  led 
the  trembling  sons  and  daughters  of  faith,  barefoot 
and  blindfolded,  over  burning  plowshares,  stretched 
them  on  wheel  and  rack,  tore  them  limb  from  limb, 
sparing  not  for  the  groan  of  age,  the  lisp  of  child 
hood,  or  the  piteous  cry  of  expectant  motherhood. 

"The  Bible  they  made  a  bludgeon  with  which 
to  brain  heretics,  forged  its  word  into  chains,  and 
with  its  leaves  kindled  martyr  fires. 

"They  have  arraigned  the  reason,  the  heart  and 
the  knowledge  of  the  race  against  Jesus  Christ  and 
His  religion.  They  stretched  Galileo  on  the  rack 
for  inventing  a  telescope  which  gave  new  beauty 
to  the  psalm,  '  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God 
and  the  firmament  showeth  His  handiwork.' 

"They  are  driving  manhood  from  the  modern 
Church.  Your  New  York  congregations  average 
four  women  to  one  man.  Of  forty-three  Governors 
of  our  states,  only  seventeen  are  members  of  any 
church;  yet  all  profess  allegiance  to  the  religion 
of  Jesus.  The  men  have  formed  secret  societies 
outside  the  Church. 

"The  Church  triumphant  will  be  a  social  power. 
Man  to-day  is  more  than  an  individual.  The 
individual  has  played  his  role  in  the  growth  of  the 


126  The  One  Woman 

centuries.  This  is  the  age  of  federation,  organisa 
tion,  society,  humanity.  Man  can  no  longer  live 
to  himself  or  die  to  himself. 

"I  proclaim  again  the  universal  priesthood  of 
believers.  I  call  for  those  mighty  forces  among 
the  unordained  which  thrilled  the  Waldenses,  the 
Franciscans,  the  Puritan  and  early  Methodists  and 
sent  them  on  their  glorious  careers.  I  preach  a  holy 
crusade  for  man  as  man,  in  the  name  of  God,  whose 
image  he  bears.  I  ask  you  to  join  with  me  as  man, 
not  as  priest,  and  build  here  a  '  Temple  of  Humanity ' 
that  shall  be  for  a  sign  of  hope  and  faith  and 
freedom." 

As  he  closed,  a  spontaneous  burst  of  applause 
shook  the  building,  and  instead  of  the  usual  prayer 
which  ended  his  sermons  he  lifted  both  his  big 
hands  high  above  his  head  and  the  audience  rose. 

"Let  us  sing  the  national  hymn,  'My  Country, 
'Tis  of  Thee,  Sweet  Land  of  Liberty,'  "  he  cried,  his 
voice  still  throbbing  with  emotion.  "And  while 
we  sing  the  ushers  will  pass  the  subscription  cards 
that  you  may  join  with  us  in  our  enterprise." 

He  dismissed  the  crowd  with  the  Benediction, 
and  the  whole  mass  lingered,  discussing  with  flushed 
faces  the  extraordinary  scene  they  had  witnessed 
and  speculating  on  its  outcome.  It  was  evident 
his  action  and  speech  had  produced  a  moral  earth 
quake  in  the  church. 

The  older  and  more  conservative  members  slipped 
out  one  by  one  and  went  home  dazed. 


The  Black  Cat  127 

The  younger  and  more  sensitive  crowded  about 
Gordon  in  hundreds,  wrung  his  hand  and  pledged 
their  support.  For  half  an  hour  he  could  not 
move,  so  dense  was  this  struggling  mass  around 
him. 

He  did  not  see  Kate  among  them.  He  knew 
the  scene  had  cut  too  deeply  into  her  life  for 
such  poor  expression.  The  ushers  at  last  handed 
him  a  bundle  of  subscription  cards  and  he 
hurried  to  his  study  to  read  their  verdict. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AN  ANSWER  TO  PRAYER 

WHEN  Gordon  reached  his  study  and  locked  the 
door  he  turned  the  bundle  of  cards  over  nervously, 
afraid  to  look  at  them. 

He  untied  the  package,  read  the  first,  and  ran 
rapidly  through  the  pile.  The  total  subscriptions 
reached  only  twenty  thousand  dollars.  He  had 
asked  for  a  million. 

A  sickening  sense  of  failure  crushed  him.  How 
weak  and  puerile  the  eloquence  of  words  or  the 
beat  of  the  human  heart  against  that  mysterious 
force  gleaming  at  him  through  Van  Meter's  black 
eyes ! 

He  sat  brooding  over  the  power  wielded  by  a 
dozen  men  whose  names  were  linked  with  the 
Deacon's  in  Wall  Street.  This  group  of  men  had 
personal  fortunes  of  more  than  eight  hundred 
millions  and  controlled  as  much  more.  He  believed 
that  they  dictated  the  policy  of  railroads,  banks, 
trade,  the  State,  the  Nation,  and  that  no  king  or 
emperor  of  the  world  wielded  such  despotism  over 
men  as  these  uncrowned,  monarchs  of  money.  He 
felt  as  though  he  had  collided  with  the  stars  in 
their  courses  and  been  crushed  to  dust. 

128 


An  Answer  to  Prayer  129 

In  the  middle  of  the  pile  of  cards  he  found  one 
signed  by  Kate  Ransom.  She  had  written  across 
the  printed  form  in  her  smooth,  flowing  hand : 

"  Please  call  after  the  service  and  let  me  know  the 
result.  I  will  send  you  my  subscription  to-morrow." 

He  knew  that  she  would  make  a  liberal  gift,  but 
her  fortune  could  not  be  more  than  a  million,  per 
haps  not  half  so  large.  Her  generosity  could  not 
save  the  day  even  if  she  gave  half  of  all  she  possessed, 
a  supposition  of  course  preposterous. 

He  could  not  summon  courage  to  go  in  the  bitter 
ness  of  his  defeat.  He  scrawled  a  note  and  sent  it 
by  the  sexton. 

"Feeling  too  blue  to  call.  Failure  complete  and 
pitiful.  The  subscriptions  reach  only  twenty  thou 
sand  dollars.  GORDON." 

There  was  but  one  forlorn  hope  left.  He  had 
written  personal  letters  to  several  millionaires  he 
knew  in  town.  They  might  respond. 

He  sat  in  his  study  in  the  afternoon,  dull,  stupid 
and  sick,  feeling  an  iron  band  around  his  brain.  He 
could  not  think.  He  gave  up  the  work  on  his  eve 
ning  sermon  and  determined  to  repeat  an  old  one. 

As  he  sat  in  an  aching  stupor  the  sexton  announced 
a  gentleman  who  insisted  on  seeing  him  on  important 
business. 


130  The  One  Woman 

"I  told  him  you  would  see  no  one  at  this  hour, 
but  he  says  he  must  see  you. " 

"Show  him  in,"  Gordon  said,  with  a  frown. 

The  man  entered,  gazed  at  the  preacher  with 
curious  interest,  and  stood  with  his  silk  hat  in  hand, 
smiling. 

"This  is  Doctor  Gordon?" 

"  Leave  off  the  doctor  and  you  have  it  right. " 

"I  am  the  bearer  of  good  news.  A  client  of 
mine  has  instructed  me  to  call  and  say  that 
the  sum  of  one  million  dollars  will  be  placed  to 
your  credit  in  the  Garfield  National  Bank  within 
two  years,  and  that  you  will  be  its  sole  trustee 
for  the  building  of  your  projected  Temple.  One- 
third  of  it  will  be  available  within  three  months. 
I  am  sorry,  I  am  forbidden  to  disclose  the 
name." 

Gordon  sprang  to  his  feet,  pale  as  death,  over 
whelmed  with  awe.  To  have  the  answer  of  his 
prayers,  the  agonising  of  his  soul  for  years,  answered 
in  the  hour  of  utter  defeat  thrilled  him  with  a  sense 
of  solemnity  he  had  never  felt.  The  man  was  not  a 
man.  He  was  the  messenger  swift  and  beautiful 
from  the  courts  of  heaven,  for  whose  coming  his 
eyes  had  long  strained  and  his  ears  listened.  Not  a 
doubt  of  its  truth  shadowed  his  mind.  He  knew  it 
was  true.  It  was  the  fulfilment  of  life.  It  had  been 
ordained  from  eternity.  He  had  felt  it  always. 
Now  he  saw  with  his  eyes.  A  pasan  of  exaltation 
welled  within  him. 


An  Answer  to  Prayer  131 

With  dimmed  eyes  he  grasped  the  lawyer's  hand 
and  fairly  crushed  it  in  his  iron  grip. 

"My  friend,  your  face  will  always  be  beautiful  to 
me,  and  your  name  a  song  of  joy.  You  have  come 
to  lift  me  from  the  gulf  of  despair  and  renew  my 
faith." 

"With  all  my  heart  I  congratulate  you,"  he 
warmly  responded. 

He  left  his  card,  and  Gordon  locked  his  door, 
walked  back  to  his  desk  and  fell  on  his  knees.  In 
transports  of  childlike  gratitude  he  poured  out  his 
soul.  All  the  old  faith  in  prayer  was  in  him  again, 
the  breath  he  breathed.  He  talked  to  God  as  to  a 
loving  father,  promising  in  broken  accents  to  cleanse 
his  heart  of  every  selfish  thought  and  consecrate 
anew  every  energy  to  his  work. 

And  then  he  caught  the  perfume  of  flowers, 
and  saw  the  face  of  a  woman,  and  she  was 
not  the  wife  of  his  youth  or  the  mother  of  his 
children. 

"God  forgive  me  for  the  drifting  of  the  past," 
he  cried.  "  I  will  tear  this  madness  out  of  my  heart 
and  love  only  Thee.  I  will  be  true  to  the  vows 
taken  at  Thy  altar.  I  have  been  wayward  and 
sinned  in  Thy  sight  in  heart  and  thought.  Wash  me 
in  Thy  love  and  I  shall  be  clean,  and  though  my  sins 
be  as  scarlet  they  shall  be  like  wool. " 

He  rose  from  his  knees  determined  to  go  imme 
diately  to  Kate  Ransom,  tell  her  the  news,  make  a 
clean  breast  of  his  love  for  her,  beg  her  to  put  the 


132  The  One  Woman 

ocean  between  them,  and  for  all  time  end  their 
dangerous  relationship. 

She  greeted  him  with  reserve,  and  seemed  em 
barrassed. 

With  impetuous  rush  he  told  her  the  tidings. 

"I've  been  lifted  from  the  depths  of  Sheol  to  the 
highest  heaven.  Every  hope  and  dream  of  my 
struggle  is  a  living  reality.  An  unknown  millionaire 
has  given  the  whole  sum  needed — a  million  dollars — 
and  our  Temple  will  rise  in  grandeur !" 

She  smiled  timidly,  and  said :  ' '  I  knew  it  would 
be  so.  You  were  glorious  this  morning." 

He  felt  her  embarrassment  and  wondered  if  she 
could  have  divined  his  grim  purpose  of  separation. 

' '  You  do  not  seem  so  glad  as  I  thought  you  would 
be, "  he  said,  with  something  of  reproach  in  his  voice. 

"Some  joys  are  too  intense  for  speech.  The 
scene  this  morning  and  your  burning  message  went 
too  deep  for  words. " 

"I  understand,"  he  said  softly. 

"I  wonder  if  you  do?"  she  asked,  dropping  her 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  come  to  the  hardest  task  of  my 
life,  one  of  the  bitterest  and  one  of  the  sweetest," 
he  said,  with  deliberation. 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly  and  began  to  tremble. 

"  Not  another  hour  must  pass  without  a  confession. 
to  you. " 

He  moved  across  the  room  and  sat  down  as  if  by  an 
effort  to  put  distance  between  them. 


An  Answer  to  Prayer  133 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  colouring. 

He  was  silent  a  moment  and  then  said  with  low, 
deliberate  tenderness: 

"I  love  you. " 

She  sobbed,  and  he  looked  steadily  out  of  the 
window. 

"  I  dare  not  sit  by  your  side  when  I  tell  you  this, " 
he  continued  passionately.  ' '  I  have  felt  it  growing 
in  spite  of  reason  or  will.  I  know  it's  tragedy  and 
sealed  by  lips  with  bolts  of  steel.  I  have  been  too 
weak  to  keep  away  from  you,  strong  enough  to  keep 
silent.  But  God  has  sent  his  messenger  to-day  to 
recall  me  to  duty.  There  is  truth  in  the  old  faith. 
He  has  heard  and  answered  the  prayer  of  my  heart. 
Somewhere  in  this  Mammon-cursed  city  there  is  one 
beautiful  disinterested  soul  that  gives  and  asks 
nothing.  I  have  seen,  as  in  a  flash  of  lightning,  my 
danger.  I  must  tear  this  passion  out  of  my  life, 
though  it  kill  me.  I  must  be  true  to  my  vows.  I 
must  live  without  scandal  or  shame.  And  you, " 
he  paused  and  his  voice  sank  to  a  tense  whisper — 
my  beautiful  darling,  glorious  love  of  my  manhood 
—you  must  help  me  !" 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  great  hands,  convulsed 
with  emotion. 

"  I  will,  my  dearest,  "  she  tenderly  answered. 

"  If  I  had  failed  to-day, "  he  went  on  tremblingly, 
"perhaps  in  reckless  fury  I  might  have  forgotten 
duty,  dashed  the  cup  of  this  martyrdom  from  my 
lips,  and  drowned  conscience  in  the  sweetness  of  your 


134  The  One  Woman 

kiss.  But  God  sent  success,  not  failure.  And  I 
must  be  worthy.  I  have  sinned  a  thousand  times 
as  I  have  gloated  over  your  beauty,  heard  the  music 
of  your  voice,  touched  your  soft  hand  and  looked 
into  your  soul  through  those  dear  blue  eyes.  It 
must  end.  One  hour  thus  face  to  face  we  will  speak, 
and  never  again  by  word  or  deed  recall  that  we  are 
aught  to  one  another.  I  have  not  asked  if  you  love 
me.  How  well  I  know  the  tragic  truth  !  But  you 
will  tell  me  once,  that  my  ears  may  never  forget  the 
words  on  your  lips." 

"  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  / — love — you!"  she  sobbed 
in  anguish. 

"We  must  never  be  together  alone  again,"  he 
sighed. 

"No." 

"  We  must  not  see  each  other  any  more. " 

"It  is  best,"  she  said,  with  despair. 

"I  dare  not  touch  your  hand — good-by!"  he 
cried,  staggering  to  his  feet. 

"Good-by,  Frank,  my  hero,  my  love — my 
God!" 

He  took  one  step  toward  the  door,  but  his  feet 
carried  him  to  her  side. 

He  trembled,  hesitated,  and  then  slowly  drew  her 
to  his  heart.  Her  arms  stole  around  his  neck  and  her 
head  drooped  on  his  breast,  the  perfume  of  her  hair 
was  in  his  nostrils,  and  their  lips  met  in  burning 
kisses. 

"  God  forgive  us  !     It  was  more  than  mortal  flesh 


Her  arms  stole  around  his  neck.  " 


An  Answer  to  Prayer  135 

could  bear  to  go  without  one  moment  of  love's  sweet 
life  !"  he  cried.     "And  now  we  must  part. " 

He  took  her  hands  in  his  and  gently  kissed  them, 
while  she  looked  away  seeing  only  his  face,  for  it  had 
long  since  filled  the  world. 

He  turned  abruptly  into  the  hall,  and,  moving  to 
the  door  with  swift  step,  he  saw  lying  on  the  silver 
tray  the  card  of  the  lawyer  he  had  met  an  hour  ago. 
In  a  moment  it  flashed  over  him  that  Kate  was  the 
unknown  messenger.  He  had  not  dreamed  her 
fortune  of  such  magnitude. 

He  seized  the  card  and  rushed  back  into  the  room. 

"Is  that  your  lawyer's  name?"  he  gasped. 

She  smiled  and  nodded  her  head  in  assent. 

"And  I  never  dreamed  it  possible  !" 

He  looked  at  her  as  though  in  a  trance. 

"  Yes,  I  will  confess  now.  You  have  confessed  to 
me.  My  fortune  came  direct  from  my  grandmother, 
who  willed  me  her  farm  on  which  the  oil  was  dis 
covered.  My  father's  fortune  is  worth  perhaps 
five  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Mine  was  worth 
about  two  million  dollars.  I  have  given  one  to  you. 
I  may  give  you  the  other  if  you  ask  it.  One  was  all 
you  asked." 

Again  he  took  her  to  his  heart. 

"I  have  misread  the  message.  Such  love  is  in 
itself  divine,  and  its  own  defense.  You  are  mine  by 
the  higher  law  of  life.  I  will  not  give  you  up — you 
are  mine,  mine  !  I  will  defy  the  world.  I  loved 
my  child- wife.  I  was  honest  then.  I  will  be  honest 


136  The  One  Woman 

now.  I  loved  as  a  boy  loves.  Now  I  am  a  man, 
with  a  man's  fierce  passions,  and  you  are  the  answer 
— strength  calling  to  strength,  deep  answering  unto 
deep  !  Your  eyes,  my  darling,  flash  the  beauty  of 
every  flower  that  blooms  and  every  star  of  the 
sky ;  in  your  hair  is  the  rose's  breath  and  the  golden 
glory  of  the  sun  !  I  will  not  live  with  one  woman 
and  love  another." 

And  the  twilight  deepened  into  night  while  they 
held  each  other's  hands  and  smiled  into  each  other's 
faces. 


CHAPTER  XII 

OUT  OP  THE  SHADOWS 

WHEN  Gordon  announced  at  the  evening  service 
that  a  million  dollars  had  been  subscribed  to  the 
new  'Temple  of  Man,"  and  that  he  had  been  consti 
tuted  its  sole  trustee,  the  crowd  burst  into  a  storm 
of  applause. 

In  vain  he  raised  his  big  muscular  hand  over  the 
tumult. 

Troops  of  young  men  and  women  with  flushed 
faces,  some  laughing,  some  crying,  sprang  from 
their  seats,  rushed  to  the  platform  and  seized  his 
hand. 

The  strains  of  the  national  hymn  suddenly  burst 
from  the  crowd,  and  they  rose  en  masse  singing  it 
with  triumphant  peal.  As  its  last  note  died  away 
a  woman's  voice  started  "Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee," 
the  people  caught  it  instantly  and  its  mighty  chorus 
rolled  heavenward.  The  singing  had  in  it  the 
spontaneous  rhythm  of  hearts  transported  by 
resistless  feeling.  For  half  an  hour  they  stood 
and  sang  the  old  familiar  hymns  whose  sentences 
were  wet  with  the  tears  and  winged  with  the  hopes 
and  mysteries  of  their  lives. 

Instead  of  a  sermon,  Gordon  read  his  resignation 
as  pastor  of  the  Pilgrim  Church. 

i37 


138  The  One  Woman 

And  then,  folding  his  hands  behind  him,  in 
trumpet  tones  he  cried : 

"Next  Sunday  morning  will  be  the  last  service  I 
will  ever  conduct  in  this  church ;  the  Sunday  morning 
following,  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  first  services  of  the 
'  Church  of  the  Son  of  Man'  will  be  held  in  the  old 
Grand  Opera  House.  It  will  seat  four  thousand 
people.  All  who  wish  to  join  this  independent 
society  are  cordially  invited  to  be  present  and 
bring  your  friends.  The  work  of  building  the 
Temple  of  Man'  will  begin  at  once.  Within  six 
months  we  hope  to  lay  its  corner-stone." 

The  meeting  was  closed  at  once  with  the  Doxology 
and  Benediction. 

The  reporters  crowded  around  him  for  fuller 
details.  He  refused  to  give  any  further  information. 
They  interviewed  every  officer  of  the  church  and 
congregation  from  whom  any  news  might  be  secured, 
and  it  was  nine  o'clock  before  the  excitement  had 
subsided  and  the  crowd  left. 

The  organist  and  quartet  choir  lingered  to  rehearse 
their  music  for  the  following  Sunday. 

Gordon  retired  to  his  study,  where  he  had  asked 
Kate  to  meet  him  for  an  important  conference. 

The  church  opened  on  the  cross  street  and 
stretched  its  barn  shape  through  the  entire  block. 
The  study  was  beside  the  pulpit  platform,  a  little 
beyond  the  .centre  of  the  building.  Behind  it  was 
the  Sunday-school  and  reading-room,  opening  on 
the  rear. 


Out  of  the  Shadows  139 

Kate  had  the  keys  to  the  reading-room,  which 
was  under  her  direction,  and  Gordon  asked  her  to 
come  to  his  study  from  the  rear  entrance  through 
the  Sunday-school  room  that  she  might  avoid  the 
suspicion  of  the  reporters.  For  the  same  reason 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  at  her  house.  He  had  left 
the  door  of  his  study  unlocked  for  her,  and  she 
entered  before  the  crowd  had  left  the  church. 

Within  a  few  moments  from  the  time  she  unlocked 
the  door  of  the  reading-room,  Van  Meter's  detectives, 
informed  him  that  she  was  in  the  pastor's  study  and 
that  he  had  left  the  rear  door  open  for  her  to  secretly 
enter. 

The  Deacon  despatched  one  of  his  men  with  an 
anonymous  note  to  Ruth  informing  her  that  Gordon 
was  in  his  study  alone  by  secret  appointment  with 
Kate  Ransom,  and  giving  to  her  duplicate  keys  to 
every  door  in  the  church  building. 

The  detective  did  not  see  Ruth,  but  the  maid  said 
she  was  at  home,  and  he  handed  her  the  package. 

Gordon  had  telephoned  to  her  briefly  the  facts  of 
the  excitement  of  the  morning,  and  told  her  he  was 
so  exhausted  that  he  would  not  return  for  dinner,  but 
would  take  his  meals  at  a  hotel  and  come  home  after 
the  evening  service. 

When  Ruth  received  the  note  and  keys  she  was 
brooding  over  his  absence  and  peering  in  the  depths 
of  the  widening  gulf  which  separated  them  in  such  a 
crisis  of  his  life. 

The  note  threw  her  into  the  wildest  excitement. 


140  The  One  Woman 

All  the  old  fiery  temper  and  jealousy  which  she  had 
kept  smouldering  in  restraint  now  burst  its  bounds. 

Flushed  and  trembling  she  rushed  from  the  house 
and  soon  reached  the  church. 

She  opened  the  door  gently,  and  with  soft  feline 
step  was  about  to  enter  the  Sunday-school  room  to 
reach  his  study,  when  through  the  glass  sliding 
partition  she  heard  the  voice  of  Van  Meter  talking 
in  the  dark  to  a  detective  and  a  reporter. 

She  listened  intently. 

"I  wish  you  had  a  flashlight  camera,"  he  was 
saying.  "His  wife  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes 
and  the  scene  in  that  room  would  be  worth  ten 
thousand  dollars.  I  have  a  good  photograph  of  the 
woman  you  can  use.  You  can  get  his  anywhere." 

' '  It  will  be  a  great  scoop  on  the  other  fellows  who 
will  write  up  the  Temple  without  the  Priestess  !" 
the  reporter  whispered. 

"I'd  give  a  thousand  dollars  to  see  his  face  in  the 
morning  when  he  picks  up  your  paper  and  reads  its 
headlines,"  chuckled  the  Deacon.  "His  eloquence, 
his  bullfrog  voice,  his  curling  locks,  his  splendid 
eyes,  will  all  be  needed,  and  will  all  of  them  be 
inadequate  to  the  occasion." 

"It  will  be  tough  on  that  beautiful  woman,  the 
scandal — by  George,  it's  a  pity,"  the  reporter  sighed. 

"But  it  will  be  a  great  day  for  the  little  black- 
eyed  spitfire  wife  of  his  he's  been  neglecting  for  the 
past  year.  Her  revenge  will  be  sweet.  I've  been 
sorry  enough  for  her." 


Out  of  the  Shadows  141 

"I  wonder  if  she  will  promptly  sue  for  a 
divorce?" 

1  'Yes;  you  can  write  that  down  without  an  inter 
view,"  the  Deacon  replied. 

Ruth  had  come  raging  in  anger  against  her  hus 
band.  But  the  cold  words  of  these  men,  whispering 
in  the  dark  their  joy  over  his  downfall,  stopped  the 
beat  of  her  heart. 

She  could  see  the  big  cruel  headlines  in  the  morning 
paper,  holding  her  beloved  up  to  shame  in  the  hour 
of  his  triumph.  Surely  this  would  be  what  he 
deserved.  But  she  loved  him — yes,  good  or  bad, 
she  loved  him.  He  was  the  hero  of  her  girl's  soul, 
the  father  of  her  beautiful  children,  and  in  spite  of 
all  his  coldness  and  neglect  he  was  her  heart's  desire. 

And  the  feeling  came  crushing  down  upon  her  that 
perhaps  she  had  failed  somehow  to  do  her  whole 
duty.  She  had  been  wilful  and  fretful  and  had  not 
kept  in  touch  and  sympathy  with  his  work.  She 
had  demanded  a  perfect  love  and  loyalty,  and  in 
agony  she  asked  herself  if  she  had  given  as  much 
as  she  had  demanded.  Had  she  not  thought  too 
much  of  her  own  rights  and  wrongs  and  too  little 
of  his  hopes  and  burdens  ?  And  perhaps  because  of 
this  he  was  to  be  crushed  at  a  blow,  and  his  enemies 
laugh  at  his  calamity  and  give  to  her  their  maudlin 
pity. 

She  could  hear  the  sweet  strains  of  the  organ  in 
the  church  and  the  soprano  singing  the  Gloria. 

She  held  her  hand  on  her  heart  for  a  moment,  as 


142  The  One  Woman 

though  it  were  breaking,  and  suddenly  her  soul  was 
born  anew. 

Out  of  the  shadows  of  self  and  self-seeking  she 
lifted  up  her  head  into  the  sunlight  of  a  perfect 
love,  a  love  that  suffereth  long  and  is  kind,  vaunteth 
not  itself,  is  not  puffed  up,  seeketh  not  its  own, 
belie veth  all  things,  endure th  all  things — love  that 
never  faileth. 

"Lord,  have  mercy  on  me,  and  help  me — I  must 
save  him  !"  she  cried  in  agony. 

Rapidly  retracing  her  steps,  she  passed  back  into 
the  street  and  around  the  block  to  the  front  of  the 
church. 

To  her  joy  she  encountered  no  one.  The  Deacon 
was  so  sure  of  his  triumph  he  had  withdrawn  his 
detectives  from  the  street  and  had  them  massed  as 
witnesses  in  the  Sunday-school  room.  He  was  sure 
they  would  emerge  by  that  way,  for  it  was  Gordon's 
usual  way  of  exit,  and  the  choir  was  still  singing  in 
the  church. 

With  feverish  haste  she  applied  the  key  to  the 
spring  lock  of  the  door  for  the  members'  entrance 
and  passed  noiselessly  down  the  aisle  in  the  shadows 
under  the  gallery,  unobserved  by  the  choir.  Only 
the  lights  about  the  organ  were  burning. 

When  she  reached  the  door  of  the  study  she  paused. 

What  if  she  found  him  with  his  arms  about  her 
and  his  lips  on  hers?  Could  she  control  herself? 
Would  she  not  spring  on  the  woman,  with  all  the 
tiger  of  her  hot  Southern  blood  from  centuries  of 


Out  of  the  Shadows  143 

proud  ancestry  tingling  in  her  tapering  fingers,  and 
tear  those  blue  eyes  from  her  head?  She  must  be 
sure.  No;  it  was  over  now.  She  had  conquered 
self.  She  would  save  him. 

Slipping  the  key  softly  into  the  lock,  she  entered 
and  stood  a  moment,  her  stormy  eyes  burning  a 
deep,  steady  fire. 

They  were  studying  a  map  of  the  city  with  eager 
interest  in  the  location  of  the  Temple  and  did  not 
see  or  hear  her. 

As  she  saw  them  thus,  a  sense  of  gratitude 
soothed  her  excitement  and  gave  perfect  control 
of  her  voice. 

" Frank,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Ruth!"  he  exclaimed  in  amazement,  striding 
toward  her,  while  Kate  blushed  and,  with  dilated 
eyes,  stared  at  her,  dumb  with  fear  of  a  scene  of 
violence. 

"Yes,"  she  continued  in  even,  rapid  tones,  "I 
have  come,  in  love,  not  anger,  to  save  you  both  from 
shame  and  disgrace.  That  room  behind  you  is  full 
of  detectives  and  reporters.  They  are  waiting  for 
the  choir  to  leave  to  find  you  here  alone.  They 
sent  for  me  to  give  a  fitting  climax  to  the  scene. 
They  have  your  photograph  already,  Miss  Ransom, 
and  the  reporter  is  preparing  his  article  on  the 
hidden  Priestess  of  the  new  Temple." 

"Oh,  I  thank  you !"  Kate  cried,  trembling. 

"  Keep  your  thanks.  I  do  this  from  no  regard 
for  you.  Frankly,  I  hate  you— hate  and  envy  you 


144  The  One  Woman 

your  terrible  beauty  that  has  robbed  me  of  that 
which  I  hold  dearer  than  life." 

"  But  I  do  not  hate  you,  Mrs.  Gordon.  I  have  for 
you  only  the  kindliest  feelings, "  Kate  protested. 

"I  prefer  your  hatred.  But  we  have  no  time  for 
talk." 

Ruth  quickly  removed  her  hat  and  cloak  and 
handed  them  to  Kate. 

"Exchange  with  me  and  pass  quickly  out  of  the 
church  by  the  little  front  door.  Keep  under  the 
shadows  of  the  gallery  and  the  choir  cannot  see  you." 

In  a  moment  it  was  done,  and  Gordon  faced  his 
wife  alone. 

"My  dear,  that  was  a  beautiful  deed  you  have 
just  done." 

"Don't  say  'my  dear'  to  me  again  until  we  have 
come  to  an  understanding  of  this  meeting, ' '  his 
wife  said,  closing  her  lips  firmly. 

"As  you  will,"  he  gravely  answered. 

' '  When  we  are  at  home  to-night  alone  I  will  hear 
your  explanation." 

' '  What  3^ou  have  told  me  is  of  such  importance  I 
cannot  go  home  to-night.  I  must  see  friends  who 
will  reach  that  newspaper  in  time  to  know  what 
Van  Meter  can  have  printed.  It  may  keep  me  the 
whole  night." 

"Very  well;  it  will  not  be  the  first  night  I  have 
spent  alone,"  she  answered  bitterly. 

"I  will  go  with  you  to  the  elevated  station,  and 
will  be  home  certainly  early  in  the  morning." 


Out  of  the  Shadows  145 

They  stepped  from  the  study,  and  Gordon  turned 
the  electric  switch,  filling  the  room  with  a  blaze  of 
light. 

Van  Meter  and  his  men  blinked  in  amazement  at 
the  sight  of  the  preacher  and  his  wife  quietly  walking 
toward  them. 

' '  You  contemptible  old  sneak  ! "  he  hissed.  ' '  How 
dare  you  crawl  into  this  room  to  spy  on  me  ? ' ' 

"  I  thought  I  had  good  reasons  for  being  here, "  he 
spluttered,  nervously  clearing  his  throat. 

"Well,  you  thought  a  lie  as  your  father,  the  devil, 
did  before  you." 

"Apparently  a  mistake  somewhere,"  stammered 
the  Deacon,  looking  sheepishly  at  Mrs.  Gordon. 
"And  I'd  like  to  explain  to  you,  sir,  that  I  didn't 
bring  that  cat." 

"Well,  cat  or  no  cat,  I  give  you  a  parting  warning. 
We  will  not  meet  again  in  this  church,  and  if  I  ever 
catch  you  sneaking  around  me  I'll  take  a  whip  and 
thrash  you  as  I  would  a  cur,  you  little  ferret-eyed 
imp  of  hell ! ' ' 

The  Deacon  cowered  beneath  the  furious  giant 
figure  and  beckoned  to  the  detectives. 

Gordon  and  his  wife  passed  by  them  and  out 
into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  BROKEN  HEART-STRING 

THE  press  next  morning  devoted  entire  pages  to 
the  sensation  in  the  Pilgrim  Church.  Portraits  of 
Gordon,  his  life  and  theories,  sketches  of  the  extra 
ordinary  scene  in  his  pulpit,  a  full  stenographic 
report  of  his  address  which  he  had  carefully  corrected 
at  midnight,  portraits  of  his  wife  and  children, 
pictures  of  the  old  church,  its  reading-rooms,  club 
houses  and  coffee-house,  were  exploited. 

His  letter  of  resignation  and  the  gift  of  a  millon 
dollars  for  building  a  vast  Temple  of  Humanity, 
that  would  be  a  forum  of  free  thought  in  the 
heart  of  the  metropolis,  were  the  subject  of  separate 
editorials  in  every  paper. 

Speculation  as  to  the  identity  of  this  mysterious 
millionaire,  who  had  apparently  deserted  the  army 
of  entrenched  wealth  to  support  this  daring  young 
revolutionist,  filled  columns.  But  it  was  all  the 
wildest  guessing.  Many  of  the  greater  magnates 
hastened  to  deny  with  emphasis  that  they  were  in 
any  way  connected  with  the  scheme.  Several  of 
them  denounced  the  preacher  as  a  dangerous  man 
whose  wild  theories  threatened  social  order. 

Gordon  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  found  not 
146 


A  Broken  Heart -String  147 

a  line  hinting  at  Kate  Ransom's  part  in  the  drama 
or  linking  his  name  with  hers. 

After  two  o'clock,  when  he  finished  his  last  confer 
ence  with  the  reporters  and  his  friends,  he  went  to  a 
hotel  where  he  was  not  known.  He  spent  the  rest 
of  the  night  pacing  the  floor  fighting  to  a  finish  the 
battle  between  the  memory  of  Ruth  and  his  children 
and  his  fierce  new  passion. 

Just  before  dawn  he  lay  down  and  fell  asleep, 
dreaming  of  Kate.  The  battle  between  the  flesh  and 
the  spirit  had  ended. 

He  slept  until  noon,  ate  a  hasty  breakfast,  called 
at  the  Ransom  house  a  moment,  and  hurried  to  his 
home. 

His  wife  had  read  the  morning  papers  with  in 
creasing  amazement  at  the  sensation  created,  and  a 
sense  of  impending  tragedy  began  to  crush  her. 
For  hours  she  had  been  walking  back  and  forth 
from  her  window  watching  for  his  approach,  until 
now  she  dreaded  to  see  him. 

At  the  sound  of  his  footstep  she  recalled  the  fact 
that  she  was  the  judge  and  he  the  culprit  in  the 
scene  to  be  enacted.  She  had  demanded  an  expla 
nation  of  the  meaning  of  the  meeting  with  this 
woman,  and  she  would  have  it.  If  his  excuse  were 
good  she  would  be  generous  in  her  love  and  beg  him 
to  begin  once  more  their  old  life,  even  if  she 
threw  the  last  shred  of  pride  to  the  winds  and 
made  herself  his  veriest  slave.  And  yet  her 
heart  misgave  her.  She  felt  herself  lost  and  ruined 


148  The  One  Woman 

before  the  battle  began,  but  determined  to  play  her 
part  bravely. 

She  watched  him  over  the  banisters  as  he  stepped 
into  the  hall  and  greeted  the  children  with  unusual 
tenderness. 

He  took  Lucy's  little  form  up  and  placed  her  arms 
around  his  neck. 

u  Now  hug  me  long,  and  hard,  and  kiss  me  sweet, " 
he  whispered. 

The  child  squeezed  his  neck  and,  placing  her 
hands  on  his  cheeks,  softly  kissed  his  lips  and  eyes 
as  she  had  often  seen  her  mother  do.  He  ran  his 
hand  gently  through  her  brown  curls  that  seemed  a 
perfect  mixture  of  her  mother's  and  his  own,  and 
Ruth  thought  his  hand  trembled  as  he  kissed  her 
again. 

"  I  never  saw  you  quite  so  beautiful,  my  baby,  as 
this  morning,  "  he  said,  as.  he  placed  her  on  the  floor. 

When  he  entered  the  room  upstairs  Ruth  had 
recovered  her  composure  and  stood  waiting,  her 
petite  figure  drawn  to  its  full  height,  her  anxious 
face  unusually  thin,  her  eyes,  set  in  the  dark  rings  of 
a  sleepless  night,  looking  blacker  and  stormier  than 
ever  in  the  shadows  of  her  disheveled  hair. 

"  Sorry  I  could  not  come  sooner,  Ruth, "  he  began, 
with  evident  embarrassment.  "But  I  did  not  get 
to  sleep  until  just  before  day,  and  I  was  so  exhausted 
I  slept  until  noon. " 

"Let  us  waste  no  words,"  said  the  soft,  round 
voice.  "I  have  waited  long;  I  am  waiting  still  for 


A  Broken  Heart-String  149 

your  explanation.  Why  was  that  woman  in  your 
study  alone  with  you  last  night  at  half -past  ten 
o'clock?" 

"You  wish  to  know  the  whole  truth?" 

"I  demand  it." 

"Very  well,"  he  replied  deliberately.  "The 
immediate  reason  is  a  secret  of  great  importance. 
I  must  ask  you  to  guard  it  sacredly. " 

"I've  kept  a  dark  one  in  my  soul.  You  have  had 
no  cause  to  complain. " 

"The  morning  papers  are  full  of  wild  speculation 
as  to  the  millionaire  who  gave  that  immense  sum 
to  build  the  Temple.  Miss  Ransom  gave  the 
money." 

"Impossible!"   she  gasped. 

"So  I  thought  at  first.  A  lawyer  came  in  the 
afternoon  and  told  me  of  the  gift  without  a  hint  of  its 
author.  In  answer  to  a  request  on  a  card  asking 
that  I  inform  her  of  the  results  of  my  appeal,  I 
called  at  her  house ' 

"  Before  you  called  at  your  own  or  informed  your 
wife,"  she  interrupted  with  bitterness. 

"Yes;  you  have  ceased  to  care  about  my  work. 
But  there  was  another  and  more  urgent  reason 
why  I  called. " 

"Doubtless!"  she  cried  impatiently. 

"  When  the  import  of  this  gift  fully  dawned  on  me, 
the  fulfilment  of  my  grandest  hopes  in  the  very 
moment  of  defeat  (for  the  popular  subscription  was 
a  failure),  I  was  overwhelmed  with  gratitude  to 


150  The  One  Woman 

God.  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  thanked  Him.  And 
then,  Ruth " 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her  wistfully  in  pity  for 
the  little  weak  figure  that  would  reel  beneath  the 
blow  of  his  words. 

"And  then  what?"  she  asked  quickly. 

Gordon  lowered  his  chin  and  rested  it  on  his  hand, 
while  a  dreamy  tone  came  into  his  voice,  softening 
it  to  its  lowest  notes,  and  a  trance-like  look  over 
spread  his  face. 

"And  then  I  recalled  that  I  had  been  deceiving 
you  and  myself  and  another.  I  faced  for  the  first 
time  honestly  the  fact  that  I  was  madly  in  love  with 
a  woman  not  my  wife — 

Ruth  went  white,  gave  an  inarticulate  groan, 
staggered  and  sank  into  a  chair  near  him,  sobbing 
in  agony. 

"Oh!  Frank,  for  the  sake  of  Jesus,  the  friend 
of  the  weak,  who  loved  little  children,  whose  name 
you  have  so  often  spoken,  have  mercy  on  me !  Do 
not  tell  me  any  more.  I  am  only  a  woman — I  can 
not  bear  it ! " 

"But  the  truth  is  best,  Ruth.  You  must  hear 
it,"  he  went  on  rapidly.  "I  asked  God  to  forgive 
me  for  the  wrong  I  had  done  you  and  her.  I  said 
I  would  tear  that  love  out  of  my  soul  if  it 
killed  me,  and  be  true  to  my  marriage  vow.  I 
went  there  to  tell  her  this  and  ask  her  to  put  the 
ocean  between  us.  I  found  that  she  loved  me  even 
as  I  loved  her,  and  she  promised.  As  I  started 


A  Broken  Heart-String  151 

to  leave  the  house,  never  to  enter  it  again,  I  saw 
the  card  of  the  lawyer  on  her  table,  and  the  truth 
flashed  over  me  that  she  had  made  this  sacrifice 
of  her  fortune — greater  than  I  had  dreamed—for 
me  and  my  work,  and  that  because  of  this  I  was 
leaving  her  forever.  It  was  more  than  I  could 
bear  or  ask  her  to  bear.  I  faced  anew  the  facts. 
Our  love  has  grown  cold.  We  are  no  longer  con 
genial.  Your  ways  have  ceased  to  be  mine.  It  is 
wrong  to  love  one  woman  and  live  with  another. 
We  must  separate." 

"No,  no,  no,  no,  Frank,  dear,  my  husband,  my 
love,  my  own.  Not  this.  You  do  not  mean  it!" 
she  groaned,  as  she  sank  to  the  floor,  buried  her 
face  in  her  arms  and  stretched  out  her  hand  until 
her  tapering  fingers  rested  on  his  broad  foot. 

He  bent  and  took  her  hand  as  though  to  lift  her. 

Suddenly  the  fever  of  her  hot  fingers  trembling 
with  overpowering  passion,  the  moisture  of  her 
hand,  and  the  tremor  of  her  convulsed  body 
swept  his  memory  with  the  pain  and  rapture  of  his 
hour  with  Kate. 

Still  holding  her  fingers,  he  slipped  his  watch 
from  his  pocket  with  the  other  hand  and  glanced 
quickly  at  its  face  to  see  if  it  were  time  for  his 
return  to  the  Ransom  house. 

"Come,  Ruth,  this  is  very  painful  to  me.  You 
must  not  humiliate  yourself  so.  You  have  pride 
and  the  heritage  of  noble  blood." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  stared  at  him,  with 


152  The  One  Woman 

infinite  yearning  in  her  eyes,  gave  a  faint  cry,  half 
anguish,  half  despair,  and  threw  herself  into  his 
arms,  holding  him  with  passionate  violence  while 
she  smothered  his  lips  and  eyes  with  kisses. 

He  attempted  gently  to  draw  her  arms  from  his 
neck. 

"No,  you  shall  not,"  she  cried,  holding  him  con 
vulsively.  "I  will  not  let  you  go.  You  are  my 
husband — my  own,  my  love,  the  hero  of  my  girl's 
dreams,  the  father  of  my  babies.  I  have  no  pride. 
I  will  do  anything  for  you  if  you  will  only  love 
me." 

"But,  Ruth,  if  I  have  ceased  to  love  you " 

"Don't,  don't  say  it!"  she  shrieked,  placing  her 
hand  on  his  lips.  "I  will  not  hear  it.  You  do 
love  me.  This  woman  has  lured  you  with  her 
devil's  beauty,  and  thrown  her  spell  over  your 
baser  nature.  Ah,  Frank,  dear,  tell  me  that  you 
love  me !  Lie  to  me  as  meaner  men  lie  to  their 
women.  Such  a  lie  I'll  hold  an  honour  before  the 
awful  shame  of  desertion.  You  cannot  humiliate 
me  so.  See,  dear,  I  am  at  your  feet.  Have  mercy 
on  me.  Do  not  ask  me  to  bear  more  than  I  can 
endure.  Am  I  not  the  mother  of  your  children?" 

Gordon  frowned  and  withdrew  her  arms  from 
his  neck. 

"All  this  is  very  painful,  Ruth.  You  cannot 
mean  it.  You  know  I  have  tried  to  be  honest. 
I  hate  a  lie.  I  could  not  tell  one  if  I  tried.  You 
cannot  love  me  and  ask  this  infamy.  I  could  never 


A  Broken  Heart-String  153 

lift  up  my  head  again  as  a  leader  and  teacher  of 
men  and  know  I  was  a  wilful  liar." 

The  little  figure  shivered. 

"  But,  Frank,  I  can't  give  you  up.  It  was  the 
touch  of  your  hand,  the  music  of  your  voice  that 
first  awoke  my  woman's  soul.  You  are  my  mate. 
You  cannot  know  the  young  mother-wonder,  pain 
and  joy  that  thrilled  my  heart  as  I  first  bent  over 
Lucy's  face,  your  dear  eyes  in  hers  smiling  at  me. 
Our  very  flesh  became  one  in  Nature's  miracle 
of  love." 

"And  yet  our  lives  have  somehow  drifted  apart, 
Ruth." 

"But  not  so  far,  dear,  as  this  woman  has  made 
you  believe,"  she  answered  tenderly.  "I  have 
been  selfish  and  resentful,  but  I  will  make  it  all  up. 
I  will  lift  up  my  head  and  be  cheerful— live  for  you, 
work  for  you,  think  only  of  you,  ask  nothing  for 
myself  but  only  your  presence  and  your  love." 

"  But  if  I  have  given  it  to  another " 

Again  she  put  her  hand  on  his  lips. 

"But  you  have  not.  It  is  madness.  You  could 
not  forget  our  life.  Last  night  I  lay  alone  in  silence, 
with  wide-open  eyes,  dreaming  it  all  over  again. 
This  woman  I  know  is  more  beautiful  than  I — three 
years  younger;  her  hair  is  gold,  mine  the  raven's. 
She  is  fair  and  full  and  tall,  and  I  am  dark  and 
small ;  but,  Frank,  dear,  love  is  more  than  eyes  and 
hair  and  lips  and  form.  We  have  been  made  one 
in  our  flesh  and  blood  and  inmost  soul.  There  is 


The  One  Woman 

no  other  man  than  you  for  me.  There  is  no  music 
save  your  voice." 

"Yet,  if  you  feel  this  for  me,  and  I  thus  wait  in 
love  on  another,  how  can  I  live  the  lie?" 

"Can  you  forget  the  sunlit  days  of  our  past?" 
she  pleaded  wistfully.  "When  you  lay  on  the 
sands  of  the  beach  in  old  Virginia  and  held  my  hand 
while  I  read  to  you,  idly  dreaming  through  that 
wonderful  summer  before  our  first-born  came  sailing 
into  port  from  God's  blue  sea  !  You  said  I  was 
beautiful  then.  And  you  were  so  tender  and  gra 
cious  in  your  strength.  No  other  woman  can  ever 
be  to  you  this  first  girl -mother." 

Her  voice  melted  into  a  sob.  She  tried  to  go  on 
and  bit  her  swollen  lips. 

Then  she  rose  quietly,  and  walked  to  the  window 
and  looked  down  at  the  city  below,  whose  roar  had 
drowned  the  music  of  her  life. 

He  sat  silent,  waiting  for  her  to  regain  her  strength. 
He  knew  that  he  had  the  power  of  hypnotic  sug 
gestion  over  her  in  his  iron  will,  and  that  she  was 
beginning  to  recognise  the  inevitable. 

She  turned  and  faced  him  again,  the  hungry  fires 
in  her  eyes  burning  with  mystic  radiance.  A  tiny 
stream  of  blood  ran  down  from  her  lip  and  stood 
in  the  dimple  of  her  chin.  She  drew  a  delicate  lace 
handkerchief  from  her  bosom  and  wiped  the  blood 
away  until  it  ceased  to  flow.  And  then  in  low 
accents  she  said : 

"  You  are  going  to  leave  me,  my  love.     I  feel 


A  Broken  Heart-String  155 

the  cold  chill  on  my  heart.  It  is  God's  will;  I  bow 
to  it.  One  look  into  your  dear  eyes,  one  last 
embrace,  one  farewell  kiss,  and  you  will  be  gone. 
A  little  gift  I  will  make  you  in  this,  the  saddest, 
lowliest  hour  my  soul  has  ever  known.  This 
handkerchief,  stained  with  blood  from  lips  you 
have  kissed  so  tenderly  in  the  past — that  bled 
to-day  because  I  tried  to  keep  back  the  cries  of  a 
broken  heart — I  ask  that  you  keep  this  as  a  token 
of  my  love." 

She  handed  it  to  him  and  Gordon  placed  it  in 
his  pocket  with  a  sigh,  brushing  a  tear  from  his 
own  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  SIREN 

GORDON  left  the  house  with  a  lingering  look  at 
Ruth's  window  and  turned  his  face  toward  Gramercy 
Park,  where  another  woman  was  waiting  for  his 
footstep. 

He  had  suffered  intensely  in  the  scene  with  his 
wife.  He  did  not  believe  it  possible  that  she 
retained  such  power  over  him.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  relief  that  it  was  over.  Her  pride  would 
come  to  the  rescue;  for  he  knew  that  with  her 
tenderness  she  combined  strength,  and  with  her 
delicacy,  supreme  energy. 

The  exaltation  of  his  great  victory  of  yesterday 
wrelled  within  him  and  drowned  the  sense  of  pain. 
It  had  been  the  most  momentous  day  of  his  life. 
Visions  of  his  Temple  with  gorgeous  dome  of  gold 
rising  in  the  sky  from  its  pile  of  gleaming  marble 
rose  before  his  fancy.  He  could  hear  the  peal  of 
the  grand  organ,  the  swell  of  the  chorus  choir, 
and  the  response  from  five  thousand  eager  faces 
before  him.  He  was  speaking  with  inspiration  as 
never  before.  He  was  leading  not  a  forlorn  hope 
against  overwhelming  odds,  but  a  triumphant  host 
of  free,  godlike  men  and  women  to  certain  victory. 

156 


The  Voice  of  the  Siren  157 

He  thought  of  the  love  that  filled  the  heart  of 
the  woman  to  whom  he  was  hurrying,  that  she 
should  do  this  unheard-of  thing  while  yet  breathing 
the  breath  of  the  capital  of  Mammon. 

And  then  there  stole  over  him,  as  oil  on  slumbering 
fires,  the  memory  of  her  kisses,  the  melting  languor 
of  her  eyes,  the  odour  of  her  hair,  the  fever  of  her 
creamy  flesh,  until  his  senses  reeled  as  drunk  with 
wine.  A  smile  played  about  his  lips ;  he  quickened 
his  pace,  lifted  his  head  high,  his  nostrils  dilated 
wide;  he  looked  dreamily  over  the  housetops  into 
the  sky  and  saw  only  the  face  of  a  woman. 

He  was  in  the  grip  of  superhuman  impulses.  In 
the  quickened  throb  of  his  heart  and  the  rush  of  his 
blood  was  the  sweep  of  subconscious  forces  of 
nature  playing  their  r61e  in  the  cosmic  drama  of  all 
sentient  life,  laughing  at  man's  laws,  making  and 
unmaking  the  history  of  races  and  worlds. 

He  was  justifying  his  desires  now  in  his  new-found 
Social  philosophy,  which  he  had  studied  closely 
since  Overman's  suggestion  of  its  scope. 

He  knew  instinctively  that  between  these  ele 
mental  impulses  and  the  Moral  Law  there  was  war. 
He  would  reconcile  them  by  leading  a  revolution 
that  should  decree  a  new  basis  for  the  Moral  Law 
itself.  He  would  make  these  very  subconscious 
forces  the  expression  of  the  highest  Moral  Law.  It 
suddenly  flashed  over  him  that  this  was  the  key 
to  the  paradox  of  life.  He  would  be  the  prophet  of 
the  new  era,  and  this  beautiful  woman  his  comrade 


158  The  One  Woman 

in  leadership  in  the  Social  Revolution  it  must 
bring. 

His  face  flushed  with  the  new  enthusiasm,  and  the 
glorious  autumn  day  about  him  seemed  one  with 
his  spirit.  The  sky  was  cloudless  with  fresh  breezes 
sweeping  over  the  seas  from  the  south. 

When  he  stepped  to  the  downtown  platform  his 
eye  wandered  up  and  down  Twenty-third  Street  and 
Sixth  Avenue  and  lingered  on  rivers  of  women 
below. 

His  own  drama,  his  million-dollar  gift,  the  enor 
mous  sensation  it  had  made  in  the  morning  press, 
had  not  produced  a  ripple  on  this  swirling  tide  of 
flesh.  They  crowded  the  windows  filled  with 
feathers  and  hats,  elbowed  and  jostled  one  another 
on  the  pavements,  pushed  and  squeezed  and 
trampled  each  other's  feet  and  skirts  fighting  for 
standing  room  around  the  Monday  bargain 
counters,  oblivious  of  the  existence  of  the 
spiritual  world,  church,  God  or  devil. 

Again  the  ceaseless  roar  of  the  city,  calm  and 
fierce  as  the  sea,  one  with  its  eternity  of  life,  stunned 
him  with  its  immensity  and  its  indifference.  He 
felt  himself  once  more  but  an  atom  lost  in  the  surging 
tides  that  beat  on  these  stone  pavements,  worn  by 
the  surge  of  myriads  dead  and  waiting  for  the  throb 
of  hosts  unborn.  What  did  they  care?  If  he  were 
to  drop  dead  that  moment,  in  the  morning  of  his 
manhood,  with  the  shout  of  victory  on  his  lips,  they 
would  not  lift  an  eye  from  their  gaze  on  hat  or  ribbon 


The  Voice  of  the  Siren  159 

to  watch  his  funeral  cortege  trot  to  the  cemetery. 
A  brief  obituary  and  he  would  be  forgotten. 

"After  all,"  he  mused,  "Nature  will  have  her 
way  about  this  old  world  and  its  destiny.  Self- 
development  is  the  first  law  of  life,  not  self- 
effacement." 

His  brow  clouded  for  a  moment  as  he  recalled 
Kate's  strange  reserve  and  shrinking  at  his  morning 
visit.  Would  she,  womanlike,  at  the  last  moment 
contradict  herself  and  withhold  the  full  surrender 
of  life?  It  was  impossible,  and  yet  he  felt  a  vague 
fear.  At  any  rate,  he  had  burned  the  bridges 
behind.  His  way  was  clear.  He  would  bring  to 
bear  every  power  he  possessed  to  win  her,  and  in 
the  vanity  of  his  powerful  manhood  he  laughed 
with  the  certainty  of  victory. 

When  he  greeted  Kate  and  bent  to  kiss  her  she 
drew  back,  blushed  and  firmly  said : 

"No;  we  have  had  our  moments  of  madness." 

And  the  man  smiled. 

"I  mean  it,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head. 

"You  will  change  your  mind.  It's  a  woman's 
way.  Those  moments  of  bliss,  so  intense  it  was 
pain,  when  our  souls  and  bodies  met  in  a  kiss,  have 
made  a  new  world  for  you  and  me." 

"But  we  will  keep  ourselves  pure  and  unspotted," 
she  answered  slowly.  "All  night  I  fought  this 
battle  alone.  Our  love  is  a  hopeless  tragedy." 

"It  shall  not  be  so  for  you,  my  shining  one." 

"There  are  others,"  she  said,  nervously  clasping 


160  The  One  Woman 

her  hands,  "whose  lives  are  linked  with  ours.  The 
face  of  your  wife  I  saw  last  night  will  forever  haunt 
me  with  its  pathos.  I've  seen  your  children  once — 
so  like  you,  and  yet  so  like  her." 

"Even  so.  Life  has  no  meaning  now  except  that 
you  are  mine  and  I  am  yours." 

"But  may  you  not  be  mine  in  a  nobler  way  than 
the  cheap  surrender  to  our  senses?  We  can  love 
and  suffer  and  wait.  You  love  me.  It  is 
enough." 

"But,  Kate,  my  dear,  there  can  be  no  middle  course 
between  right  and  wrong,  a  lie  and  the  truth." 

She  fixed  on  him  an  intense  look. 

"Have  you  told  her?" 

"Yes,  and  we  have  separated  as  man  and  wife. 
She  leaves  for  Florida  for  the  winter.  She  has 
agreed  at  my  request  to  secure  a  divorce,  and  you 
and  I  will  marry  under  the  new  forms  of  Social 
freedom.  Our  union  will  be  a  prophecy  of  the 
revolution  that  shall  redeem  society." 

"You  are  doing  a  great  wrong,"  she  protested, 
her  full  red  lips  drawn  with  pain.  When  I  think  of 
your  wife  and  children,  of  her  tears  and  reproaches, 
I  am  sick  with  fear." 

"Perfect  love  will  cast  out  fear.  The  world  is 
large.  The  soul  is  large.  Lift  up  your  head  and 
be  yourself.  You  said  to  me  in  this  room  once  you 
were  not  afraid." 

"Yes;  I  had  not  kissed  you  then,  or  felt  the  bliss 
and  agony  of  your  strong  arms  about  me.  Now, 


The  Voice  of  the  Siren  161 

I  am  afraid  of  you" — her  voice  sank  to  a  tense 
whisper — "and  I  am  afraid  of  myself  !" 

He  seized  her  hand. 

"You  will  take  the  risk.  You  are  cast  in  such  a 
mould,"  he  said,  with  ringing  assurance.  "You 
are  the  chosen  one,  my  dauntless  comrade  in  a  holy 
crusade.  We  will  call  womanhood  from  enslave 
ment  to  form,  ceremony  and  tradition,  in  which 
the  brute  nature  of  man  has  bound  her,  out 
and  up  into  her  larger  self,  the  mate  and  equal  of 
man." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  her  hair  began  to  fall  in 
waving  ringlets  about  her  forehead,  temples  and 
neck. 

"I  am  afraid.  I  cannot  permit  this  sacrifice  on 
your  part.  You  must  break  with  society,  your 
friends,  your  father,  your  past,  your  wife  and  chil 
dren.  I  must  brave  the  sneers  of  gossip  and  the 
tongue  of  slander.  It  will  destroy  your  work  and 
end  your  career." 

"It  will  give  it  grander  scope.  Back  of  the  dead 
forms  of  the  age  the  living  heart  of  a  new  life  is  beat 
ing.  It  will  burst  its  bounds  as  surely  as  the  dead 
limbs  in  that  park  will  in  spring  put  on  their  shim 
mering  satin  which  Nature  is  now  weaving  in  her 
mills  beneath  the  sod.  You  and  I  will  open  the 
doors  of  the  soul  and  body  to  a  new  and  wider  life. 
And,  after  all,  the  body  is  the  soul.  I  know  it 
as  I  drink  the  madness  of  your  beauty." 

"I  do  not  fear  the  world  so  much.     I  shrink  from 


1 62  The  One  Woman 

striking  a  woman  a  mortal  blow.  I  know  what  it  is 
to  love  now,"  she  insisted  sadly. 

"Ruth  and  I  have  grown  out  of  each  other's  life. 
Besides,  you  do  not  know  her.  Beneath  her  little 
form  are  caged  powers  you  have  not  guessed,"  he 
replied,  with  a  curious  smile.  "I  groan  and  bellow 
in  pain  until  you  can  hear  me  a  mile.  It  is  my  way. 
She  can  take  her  place  on  the  cold  slab  of  a  surgeon's 
table,  feel  the  crash  of  steel  through  nerve  and  muscle 
and  artery  without  a  groan.  I  might  rave,  commit 
suicide  or  murder  in  a  tempest  of  passion,  but  mark 
my  word,  she  will  lift  her  lithe  figure  erect  and, 
with  soft,  even  footstep,  go  her  way." 

He  said  this  with  a  ring  of  tender  pride,  as  though 
she  were  his  child  about  whom  he  was  boasting. 

"I  believe  you  love  her  still,"  Kate  said,  flushing 
with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"You  know  her  love  could  not  live  in  the  fires 
with  which  my  eyes  are  consuming  you,"  he  said 
with  intensity. 

She  lowered  her  gaze  and  glanced  uneasily  about 
as  though  afraid  of  him. 

"Must  the  strength  of  manhood  be  forever  throt 
tled  by  the  impulses  and  mistakes  of  youth  ?  Great 
changes  in  society  are  impending.  You  have  felt 
it.  The  whole  world  is  trembling  at  their  coming. 
Changes  in  the  forms  of  marriage  must  come  that 
shall  give  scope  for  our  highest  development.  I  ask 
you  to  enter  with  me  into  this  new  world  as  a  com 
rade  pioneer  and  priestess.  We  will  enter  into  a 


The  Voice  of  the  Siren  163 

marriage  so  free,  so  spontaneous  no  chains  shall 
gall  it;  and  yet  in  the  breadth  of  its  freedom  so 
sweet,  so  strong,  so  harmonious  it  will  be  a  sublime 
revelation  to  the  world." 

"And  you  think  me  fit  for  such  priesthood?"  she 
asked.  "There  are  hidden  fires  beneath  this  form 
you  deem  so  fair.  I  have  never  known  restraint 
except  in  the  willing  slavery  of  your  love.  You  do 
not  know  me — I  warn  you.  I  did  not  know  myself 
until  I  felt  the  mad  rush  of  blood  from  my  heart  in 
your  arms  yesterday.  -  I  am  afraid  of  this  woman  I 
met  for  the  first  time  in  the  wild  joy  of  your  kiss." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  you,"  he  laughed,  springing  to 
his  feet  and  striding  toward  her. 

She  trembled  at  his  approach,  but  did  not  protest 
except  with  a  helpless  look  in  her  violet  eyes. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  towering  over  her,  his  feet 
braced  apart,  his  big  hands  fiercely  locked,  his  wide 
chest  heaving  with  the  exultant  joy  of  the  mastery 
of  her  life,  his  steel-gray  eyes  sparkling  with  the 
insolence  of  strength. 

"We  were  born  for  one  another,"  he  said,  in  low, 
burning  tones.  "It  was  for  me  you  were  waiting. 
Lo !  I  am  here,  and  you  are  mine.  In  you  I  have 
seen  the  ideal  that  haunts  every  full-grown  man's 
soul,  of  comradeship  in  every  work,  sympathy  with 
every  hope,  the  glory  of  a  perfect  body,  and  perfect 
faith  with  perfect  freedom." 

"And  you  see  all  this  in  me  ?"  she  asked  earnestly. 

"Yes.     You    are    my  affinity,  nerve    answering 


164  The  One  Woman 

nerve,  thought  echoing  thought.  In  our  union  I  see 
a  love  so  strong,  of  such  utter  surrender,  of  such 
devotion  of  intellect,  such  mystic  enthusiasm  and 
physical  joy,  its  waves  must  break  in  ecstasy  on  our 
souls  forever." 

She  arose  with  a  sigh,  looked  appealingly  at  him, 
and  her  lips  mechanically  said: 

"It  is  wrong." 

But  the  man  saw  the  flash  of  unutterable  love  in 
her  eyes  and  the  tender  smile  about  her  full  lips ; 
and  laughing  aloud,  he  took  her  deliberately  in 
his  arms. 

He  kissed  a  tear  from  her  lashes.  A  tremor 
shook  her  splendid  form,  she  closed  her  eyes, 
breathing  deeply,  slipped  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  sighed : 

"My  darling!". 


CHAPTER  XV 
GOEST  THOU  TO  SEE  A  WOMAN? 

AGAIN  Gordon  was  seated  in  Overman's  library 
and  his  single  eye  was  asking  some  uncomfortable 
questions. 

"I  sent  for  you,  Frank,  because  I  discovered  by 
accident,  in  the  office  of  a  newspaper  of  which  I  am 
a  stockholder,  that  some  curious  things  are  going 
on  between  you  and  a  young  woman  of  your  con 
gregation.  I  put  two  and  two  together,  and  I've 
guessed  the  secret  of  your  Temple.  There's  more 
behind  all  this  than  religious  enthusiasm.  That 
gift  was  not  laid  on  God's  altar,  but  on  the  altar 
of  one  of  his  little  images  here  below.  Out  with  it. 
You  can't  fool  me." 

"Well,  your  guess  is  correct.  She  gave  the 
money.  I  love  her  and  she  loves  me.  Ruth  will 
go  South  for  the  winter,  and  we  have  separated. 
A  divorce  will  be  obtained  in  due  time,  and  I  will 
marry  Miss  Ransom  under  the  new  forms  of  Social 
Freedom,  and  you  will  be  my  best  man." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  Overman  slowly  growled, 
bringing  his  enormous  jaws  together  and  twisting 
the  muscles  of  his  mouth  upward  as  though  he 
smelled  something. 


1 66  The  One  Woman 

''Can't  stand  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress?" 

"Oh,  I  might  survive.  You  know  they  say  the 
only  really  happy  people  at  a  wedding  are  the  old 
bachelors." 

"Then  why  not?" 

"I  draw  the  line  at  the  progressive  harem  idea." 

"And  a  bachelor?"  Gordon  sneered. 

Overman  nodded.  "Many  things  may  be  for 
given  sinners,  but  a  bishop  must  be  the  husband  of 
one  wife." 

"I'm  not  a  bishop.  I'm  a  man.  I  ask  no  quarter 
of  my  enemies." 

"You  have  but  one  enemy.  You  can  see  him  in 
the  mirror  any  time." 

"It's  funny  to  hear  you  preach !" 

The  banker  bent  forward. 

"Frank,  you're  joking.  You  don't  mean  to  tell 
me  that  your  Socialist  poppy  plant  has  borne  its 
opium  fruit  so  soon  ?  That  you  are  going  to  desert 
that  charming  little  woman,  shy,  timid  and  tremu 
lous,  with  her  great  soulful  eyes,  the  bride  of  your 
youth,  the  mother  of  your  babes,  and  take  up  with 
another  woman,  just  as  any  ordinary  cur  has  done 
now  and  then  for  the  past  four  thousand  years  ? ' ' 

Gordon  winced. 

"No.  I  am  going  to  form  a  union  with  this 
beautiful  woman  which  shall  be  a  prophecy  and  a 
propaganda  of  the  freedom  of  the  race,  when  com 
rade  life  shall  forget  the  ancient  fears,  each  shall  be 
free  to  find  and  love  his  own,  love  be  loosed  from 


Goest  Thou  to  See  a  Woman?  167 

tragedy,  doubt  or  moan,  each  life  be  its  own, 
original  and  masterful,  each  man  a  god,  arrayed 
and  beautiful !" 

Overman  laughed  softly. 

"So  fine  as  that?  You're  great  on  the  frills. 
You  have  dressed  it  up  nicely.  But  when  two  of 
your  man-gods,  arrayed  and  beautiful,  get  their  eyes 
set  on  the  same  woman-god,  still  more  beautiful, 
arrayed  or  unarrayed,  you'll  hear  the  rattle  of  the 
police  wagon  in  the  streets  of  Heaven,  with  the 
ambulance  close  behind." 

The  banker  grinned  and  fixed  his  eye  on  his 
friend  with  a  quizzical  look. 

"Don't  be  a  monkey,"  Gordon  scowled. 

"Why  not?  You  propose  to  go  back  to  forest 
life." 

"  I  propose  to  make  human  society  a  vast  brother 
hood,  "  the  preacher  cried,  with  a  wave  of  his  arm. 

"Well,  don't  forget  that  Cain  killed  his  brother 
Abel  for  less  than  a  woman's  smile." 

"Society  is  lost  unless  some  great  upheaval  shall 
clear  the  rubbish  and  we  build  new  foundations  on 
truth  and  fellowship  and  freedom. " 

Overman  put  his  hand  on  Gordon's  knee. 

"Frank,  I'm  a  godless,  crusty  bachelor,  but  I  read 
history.  Destroy  the  integrity  of  the  family  and 
the  salt  of  the  earth  is  lost.  The  whole  thing  will 
rot." 

"  But  I  propose  to  purify  and  glorify  the  home  and 
its  life  by  building  it  on  love. " 


1 68  The  One  Woman 

"Your  dream's  a  fake  and  its  world  peopled  with 
fools  " 

"  Love  must  conquer  all, "  the  dreamer  insisted. 

"And  to  do  it,  Frank,  it  must  begin  at  home. 
You  are  blinded  by  a  woman's  beauty. " 

"No;  I  love  her  with  the  one  master  passion  of 
manhood.  Such  love  is  itself  the  highest  expression 
of  life." 

"Confound  you,"  snapped  Overman,  "love -as 
many  women  as  you  please,  but  don't  desert  your 
wife  and  children.  It's  too  vulgar.  I'm  ashamed 
of  you." 

"  I  will  not  live  a  lie,  "  Gordon  said,  with  emphasis. 

"  Strange  madness.  I  urge  you  to  tell  a  tiny  little 
polite  lie  and  save  your  wife  and  children.  You're 
too  good  to  lie,  so  you  kill  your  wife,  proclaim  an 
insane  crusade  of  lust,  and  call  it  a  religion  !" 

"  We  can't  control  the  beat  of  our  hearts, "  was  the 
dreamy  reply. 

"  No,  you  can't;  but  you  can  control  the  stroke  of 
your  big,  blue-veined  fist !  You  have  struck  the 
mother  of  your  children  with  your  brute  claws.  It's 
a  mean,  low  thing  to  do,  call  it  by  as  many  high 
names  as  you  please.  Love  as  many  women  as 
you  like,  but  for  decency's  sake — can't  you  honour 
your  wife  with  a  polite  lie?" 

"  It's  not  in  me  to  lie,  or  to  love  but  one  woman." 

The  banker's  massive  shoulders  went  up  and  his 
bushy  brows  lifted. 

"  You'll  end  with  a  dozen.     And  it's  such  a  stupid 


Goest  Thou  to  See  a  Woman?  169 

old  story.  You  think  the  performance  an  original 
drama  in  which  you  are  playing  a  star  role.  It's  as 
old  as  the  brute  beneath  the  skin  of  your  big  hairy 
hand.  Alexander  could  conquer  the  world,  but 
he  died  in  drunken  revelry  with  a  worthless  woman. 
Caesar  and  Mark  Antony  forgot  the  Roman  Empire 
for  the  smile  of  Cleopatra.  Frederick  the  Great 
became  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  a  ballet  dancer. 
She  spoke  and  he  obeyed.  Conde,  in  the  meridian 
of  his  splendid  manhood,  the  pride  and  glory  of 
France,  sacrificed  his  family,  his  fortune  and  his 
friends  for  an  adventuress,  who  murdered  him. 
Charles  Stewart  Parnell,  the  uncrowned  king  of 
Ireland,  forgot  his  people  and  stumbled  into  death 
and  oblivion  over  the  form  of  a  woman.  The  hills 
and  valleys  of  the  centuries  are  white  with  the  bones 
of  these  fools." 

"  There  was  never  a  case  just  like  mine. " 

"  So  every  fool  thought.  " 

"  But  you  have  not  seen  this  woman.  You  do  not 
know  her,"  Gordon  protested,  hotly. 

"  No ;  and  I  don't  want  to  know  her.  'Goest  thou 
to  see  a  woman  ?  Take  thy  whip ! '  Women, 
savages  and  children  are  inferior  and  immature 
forms  of  evolution.  But  they  are  going  to  prove 
more  than  a  match  for  you,  my  boy. " 

"Yes;  I've  heard  you  talk  such  rubbish  before," 
Gordon  replied,  dreamily.  "  Mark,  I'm  sorry  for  the 
poverty  of  your  life.  The  man  who  has  not  loved 
is  not  a  man.  He  is  a  monstrosity  out  of  touch  or 


170  The  One  Woman 

sympathy  with  the  race.  You  cannot  understand 
me  when  I  tell  you  that  our  love  is  so  pure,  so 
wonderful,  so  perfect,  it  is  its  own  defense. " 

"Indeed!  Which  love?  For  Ruth  or  Kate? 
Frank,  I  marvel  at  the  childlike  simplicity  of  your 
folly  and  your  mental  antics  to  justify  it.  It's 
enough  to  make  that  cat  laugh  that  broke  up  your 
sermon." 

"We  are  going  to  bear  in  our  union  and  life  the 
flaming  standard  of  a  revolution  that  will  yet  redeem 
society. " 

"I  admire  your  ingenuity.  Just  a  plain  rooster- 
fighting  sinner  like  me  would  never  have  thought  of 
making  his  sin  a  holy  religion.  You  haven't  studied 
theology  for  nothing.  I'll  bet  you  could  argue  the 
devil  or  the  Archangel  Michael  to  a  standstill  on 
any  proposition  you'd  set  your  heart  on. " 

The  preacher  smiled. 

"  I  never  saw  my  course  with  greater  clearness. " 

"Yes;  but  a  nail  in  the  pilot-house  will  draw  the 
needle  and  drive  the  mightiest  ocean  greyhound  on 
the  rocks  with  the  captain  at  the  wheel  dead  sure  of 
his  course. " 

"  Mark,  it's  utterly  useless  to  talk.  You  and  I  are 
miles  apart  at  our  starting-point  and  we  get  farther 
with  every  step.  You  look  at  it  from  the  vulgar 
point  of  view  of  the  world.  What  I  am  doing  is  a 
great  act  of  the  soul,  a  breaking  of  bonds  and  chains. 
You  see  only  the  body.  I  am  going  to  lead  a  crusade 
that  shall  so  purify  and  exalt  the  body  that  it  shall 


Goest  Thou  to  See  a  Woman?  171 

become  one  with  the  soul.  The  freedom  of 
man  can  only  be  attained  in  unfettered  fellow 
ship,  and  this  beautiful  woman  will  be  with  me 
a  comrade  priestess  to  teach  the  world  this  sublime 
truth." 

"And  will  you  be  the  only  priest  with  her  in 
the  Temple  of  Humanity?"  asked  the  banker, 
quizzically. 

Gordon  laughed  with  insolent  assurance. 

"In  her  eyes,  yes." 

"  But  other  men  have  eyes. " 

"Their  gaze  will  not  disturb  the  serenity  of  our 
love,  because  it  will  be  built  on  oneness  of  ideal, 
hope,  faith,  taste  and  work. " 

"And  yet  dark  hair  loves  the  blond,  and  blue 
eyes  hunger  for  the  brown.  It's  an  old  trick  Nature 
has  played  before,  Frank." 

"Well,  we  are  going  to  show  you  a  miracle,  and 
you  are  coming  with  us  by  and  by  and  be  a  deacon 
in  this  Church  of  the  Son  of  Man. " 

Overman  drew  his  straight  bushy  brow  down 
over  his  one  eye  until  it  looked  like  the  gleam 
of  a  lighthouse  through  the  woods,  turned 
his  head  sideways,  peered  at  his  friend  and 
growled : 

"Well,  you  are  a  fool!" 

"I  have  faith  that  will  remove  mountains." 

"You'll  need  it.  I've  been  waiting  for  a  church 
in  New  York  broad  enough  to  invite  the  devil  to 
ioin.  I'll  come  when  it's  ready. " 


172  The  One  Woman 

"  Good.     We'll  give  you  a  welcome. " 

Overman  grunted,  and  gazed  into  the  fire  with  his 

single  eye,  frowning  and  twisting  the  musSles  of  his 

mouth  into  a  sneer. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  PARTING 

THE  night  before  the  day  Gordon  had  fixed  for 
their  final  parting  Ruth  slept  but  little.  The 
task  of  gathering  his  things  scattered  about  the 
house  was  harder  than  she  had  hoped. 

Over  each  little  trinket  that  spoke  its  message 
of  the  tender  intimacy  of  married  life  she  had 
lingered  and  cried.  She  wished  to  keep  everything. 

At  last  she  placed  the  clothes  in  his  trunk,  his 
collars,  cuffs,  cravats  and  such  odds  and  ends  as 
he  would  need  at  once,  and  the  rest  she  packed 
away  carefully  in  bureau  drawers  and  locked 
them  up. 

His  slippers  and  dressing-gowns  she  knew  he 
would  want,  but  she  made  up  her  mind  she  would 
keep  them.  The  slippers  were  an  old-fashioried 
pattern  with  quaint  Spanish  embroidery  worked 
around  the  edges.  She  had  made  the  first  pair 
before  they  were  married,  with  her  girl's  heart 
fluttering  with  new-found  happiness.  She  had 
allowed  him  no  other  kind  since  their  marriage. 
This  bit  of  sentiment  she  had  guarded  even  in  the 
darkest  days  of  the  past  year's  estrangement.  She 
had  worked  each  pair  with  her  own  hand. 


i74  The  One  Woman 

His  dressing-gowns,  in  which  he  often  studied 
at  home  in  her  room  late  on  Saturday  nights,  she 
had  always  made  for  him,  changing  their  designs 
from  time  to  time  as  her  fancy  had  led  her. 

Around  these  two  articles  of  his  wardrobe  her 
very  heart-strings  seemed  woven. 

She  placed  them  in  his  trunk  once,  telling  herself 
through  her  tears : 

"He  may  think  of  me  when  he  sees  them." 

Then  the  lightning  flashed  across  the  clouds  in 
her  eyes. 

"She  might  touch  them!  Let  her  make  them 
for  him  after  her  own  devil's  fancy ! ' ' 

She  took  them  out,  kissed  them  and  packed 
them  away.  His  picture  she  took  down  carefully 
from  the  walls,  his  photographs  from  her  mantel 
and  bureau  and  dresser.  The  life-sized  one  she 
locked  in  a  closet  and  packed  the  others  with  his 
belongings  she  meant  to  keep. 

On  a  wedding  certificate,  set  in  a  quaint  old  gold 
frame,  she  looked  long  and  tenderly.  She  took  it 
down  from  its  place  over  her  bureau,  where  it  had 
hung  for  years,  and  brushed  the  dust  from  the 
back.  On  its  broad  white  margins  he  had  written 
a  poem  to  her  on  the  birth  of  their  first  baby.  He 
had  sent  her  yards  of  rhymes  during  their  court 
ship,  but  this  was  a  poem.  Every  line  was  wet 
with  his  tears,  and  every  thought  throbbed  with 
the  sweetest  music  of  his  soul  wrought  to  its  highest 
tension  of  feeling. 


The  Parting  175 

She  read  it  over  and  over  again  and  cried  as 
though  her  heart  would  break  as  a  thousand  tender 
memories  came  stealing  back  from  their  early 
married  life. 

"Oh,  dear  God!"  she  sobbed.  "How  could  he 
have  felt  that — and  he  did  feel  it — and  now  desert 
me!" 

She  sat  for  an  hour  with  this  framed  emblem 
of  her  happiness  and  her  sorrow  in  her  hands,  dream 
ing  of  their  past. 

She  was  a  girl  again  in  old  Hampton,  Virginia, 
her  heart  all  a-quiver  over  a  ball  at  the  Hygeia, 
where  she  was  to  meet  a  guest,  a  distinguished 
young  preacher  resting  for  the  summer  just  from 
his  divinity  course.  He  had  seen  her  in  the  crowd 
at  the  hotel  and  begged  a  friend  to  introduce  him. 
She  was  going  to  meet  him  in  the  parlours,  dressed 
in  the  splendour  of  her  ballroom  dress  that  night, 
and  conquer  this  handsome  young  giant.  And 
from  the  moment  they  met  she  was  the  conquered, 
and  he  the  conqueror. 

The  incense  of  their  honeymoon  in  a  village  of 
southern  Indiana  during  his  first  pastorate,  when 
the  wonder  of  love  made  stormy  days  bright  with 
splendour  and  clothed  in  beauty  the  meanest  clod 
of  earth,  stole  over  her  soul — each  memory  added 
to  her  pain,  and  yet  they  were  sweet.  She  hugged 
them  to  her  heart. 

"They  are  all  mine  at  least !"  she  sighed.  "And 
I  am  glad  I  have  lived  them," 


176  The  One  Woman 

At  two  o'clock  she  went  into  the  nursery  and 
looked  at  the  sleeping  children.  She  bent  over  the 
cradle  of  the  boy.  He  was  dreaming,  and  a  smile 
was  playing  about  the  corners  of  his  lips. 

He  was  so  like  Gordon,  with  his  little  mouth 
t witching  in  dreamy  laughter,  she  fell  on  her  knees, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  delicate  tapering  hands, 
crying : 

"How  can  I  bear  it !" 

She  placed  her  arms  on  the  rail  of  the  cradle  and 
gazed  at  him  tenderly. 

"Lord,  keep  him  clean  and  pure,  and  whatever 
he  may  do  in  life,  may  he  never  break  a  woman's 
heart!"  she  softly  prayed. 

Into  her  first-born's  face  she  looked  long  and  in 
silence.  How  like  her,  and  how  like  him,  and  how 
marvelous  the  miracle  of  this  union  of  flesh  and 
blood  and  spirit  in  a  living  soul !  Lucy  was  growing 
more  like  her  every  day.  She  could  see  and  hear 
herself  in  her  ways  and  voice,  until  she  would 
laugh  aloud  sometimes  at  the  memory  of  her  own 
childhood.  And  yet  to  see  her  very  self  growing 
into  the  startling  image  of  her  lover  who  was 
deserting  her  cut  anew  with  stinging  power. 

Again  she  was  softly  praying:  "Dear  Lord, 
whatever  shall  come  to  her,  poverty  or  riches,  joy 
or  pain,  honour  or  shame,  sunshine  or  shadow,  save 
her  from  this.  My  feet  will  climb  this  Calvary, 
and  my  lips  drink  its  gall,  but  may  the  cup  pass 
from  her!" 


The  Parting  177 

After  a  few  hours  of  fitful  sleep,  she  rose  and 
looked  out  her  window  on  another  radiant  November 
morning.  So  clear  was  the  sky  she  could  see  the 
flag-staffs  of  the  great  downtown  buildings  and 
back  of  them  in  the  distant  bay  the  pennant  masts 
of  ships  at  anchor.  The  trees  in  Central  Park 
seemed  to  glow  with  the  splendour  of  the  dying 
autumn's  sun.  The  glory  of  the  day  mocked  her 
sorrow. 

"What  does  Nature  care?"  she  sighed.  "And 
yet  who  knows,  it  may  be  a  token  !  I  must  bravely 
play  my  part  and  leave  the  rest  with  God." 

Watching  at  the  window  she  saw  Gordon  coming, 
his  broad  feet  measuring  a  giant's  stride,  his  wide 
shoulders  and  magnificent  head  high  with  uncon 
scious  strength. 

She  wondered  if  he  would  stop  in  the  parlour  as 
a  visitor  or  come  to  her  room  as  was  his  custom, 
and  a  sharp  pain  cut  her  with  the  thought  of  their 
changed  relationship. 

He  stopped  in  the  hall,  asked  the  maid  to  send 
the  children  down  at  once,  and  stepped  into  the 
parlour. 

He  felt  a  strange  embarrassment  in  his  own 
home.  This  house  he  had  bought  for  Ruth  soon 
after  their  arrival  in  New  York.  It  had  just  been 
built  in  the  wide-open  space  of  the  cliffs  on  Washing 
ton  Heights.  The  Pilgrim  Church's  members  were 
long  since  scattered  over  every  quarter  of  the  city, 
and,  by  arranging  his  study  in  the  church,  he  was 


1 78  The  One  Woman 

able  to  have  his  home  so  far  removed  from  the 
noise  of  the  downtown  district.  He  had  thus 
fulfilled  Ruth's  passionate  desire  for  a  home  of  her 
own  within  their  moderate  means.  He  recalled 
now  with  tender  melancholy  how  happy  they  had 
been  decorating  this  little  nest,  and  how  far  from 
his  wildest  dream  had  been  such  an  ending  of  it 
all. 

But  he  had  come  with  important  news,  and  he 
hoped  her  pain  would  be  softened  by  its  announce 
ment. 

The  children  entered  with  shouts  of  delight. 
First  one  would  hug  him,  and  then  the  other,  and 
then  both  would  try  at  the  same  time. 

Lucy  put  her  hands  on  his  smooth  ruddy  cheeks 
and  kissed  his  lips  and  eyes  with  the  quaintest 
imitation  of  her  mother's  trick  of  gesture. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Papa?  We  thought  you 
were  never  coming?  Mama  said  you  were  gone  for 
a  trip  and  would  come  to-day,  but" — her  voice 
sank — "she's  been  crying,  and  crying,  and  we  don't 
know  what's  the  matter.  I'm  so  glad  you've 
come." 

"Well,  you  and  brother  run  upstairs  to  play  and 
tell  her  Papa  wishes  to  see  her." 

The  children  left  and  Ruth  came  down  at  once. 

As  she  entered  the  room  he  was  struck  by  the 
change  in  her  face  and  manner.  She  seemed  trans 
figured  by  a  strange,  spiritual  elation.  She  was 
gracious,  natural  and  friendly.  The  anxiety  had 


The  Parting       .  179 

passed  from  her  face,  and  the  storm  in  her  dark 
eyes  seemed  stilled  by  a  steady  radiance  from  the 
soul. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  looking  better,  Ruth,"  he 
said,  with  feeling. 

"Yes,  I  have  a  new  standard  now  of  measuring 
life,  its  pain  and  its  joy.  The  soul  can  only  pass 
once  through  such  a  moment  as  that  I  lived, 
prostrate  on  the  floor  at  your  feet  last  Monday. 
I  have  looked  Death  in  the  face.  I  am  no  longer 
afraid." 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry  to  give  you  such  pain.  I 
did  not  think  you  cared  so  deeply,"  he  said,  gently. 

"Yes,  I  know  I  have  seemed  indifferent  and 
resentful  for  the  past  year.  I  thought  you  would 
come  back  to  your  old  self  by  and  by.  In  my  poor 
proud  soul  I  thought  I  was  punishing  you.  How 
little,  dear,  I  dreamed  of  this !  The  thought  of 
really  losing  you  never  once  entered  my  heart. 
It  was  unthinkable.  I  do  not  believe  it  yet.  Such 
love  as  ours,  such  tenderness  and  devotion  as  you 
gave  to  me  once,  the  delirium  of  love's  joy  that 
found  itself  in  my  motherhood  and  wrought  itself 
in  the  forms  of  our  babies — no,  Frank,  it  cannot 
die,  unless  God  dies  !  And  I  shall  not  lose  you  at 
last,  unless  God  forgets  me,  and  He  will  not." 

Her  face,  even  through  her  tears,  was  illumined 
by  an  assurance  so  strong,  so  prophetic,  the  man 
was  startled. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you,  Ruth,  that  I  desire  your 


i8o  The  One  Woman 

happiness.  And,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you, 
Miss  Ransom  regards  you  with  tenderness." 

The  dark  eyes  flashed  a  gleam  of  lightning  from 
their  depths. 

"Thanks.  I  can  live  without  her  maudlin 
pity." 

"You  misjudge  her,"  he  cried,  raising  his  hand. 

"Perhaps;  but  I'll  ask  you,  Frank,  not  to  dis 
honour  me,  or  this  little  home  you  were  once  good 
enough  to  give  to  me,  by  mentioning  that  woman's 
name  within  its  doors  again." 

The  sensitive  mouth  closed  with  an  emphasis  he 
could  not  mistake. 

"But  I  am  the  bearer  from  her  to-day  of  a  token  of 
her  regard.  She  has  determined  to  turn  over  to  you 
as  quickly  as  possible  a  half -million  dollars  of  her 
remaining  fortune." 

Ruth  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  face  scarlet,  her 
breast  heaving,  her  lithe  figure  erect  and  trembling. 

"And  you  dare  bring  this  message  to  me?  This 
offer  to  sell  my  husband  and  my  love  !" 

"Come,  come,  Ruth,  a  woman  has  no  need  to 
sacrifice  a  great  fortune  in  New  York  for  a  husband. 
They  are  cheaper  than  that." 

"They  do  seem  cheap,"  she  answered,  bitterly. 

"You  should  have  common  sense.  The  spirit  of 
sacrifice  in  this  great  gift  to  you  and  the  children  is 
too  deep  and  honest  to  be  met  with  a  sneer.  It  is 
my  desire  and  hers  that  you  shall  be  forever  beyond 
want." 


The  Parting  181 

Ruth's  face  softened  and  a  tender  smile  lit  it  once 
more. 

"Frank,  my  darling,  you  cannot  think  me  so 
base  ?  You  know  there  is  not  a  drop  of  mean  blood 
in  me.  Can  gold  pay  for  my  heart's  desire?  The 
price  for  my  beloved  ?  Pile  the  earth  with  diamonds 
to  the  stars,  I'd  hold  it  trash  for  the  touch  of  your 
hand !" 

The  man  moved  nervously. 

"You  must  have  some  sense,  Ruth.  Surely,  I'm 
not  worth  all  this  if  I  leave  you  so.  You  must  take 
this  money." 

She  moved  closer  to  him  and  held  up  her  delicate 
hands,  with  the  sunlight  gleaming  through  the  red 
blood  of  her  tapering  fingers. 

"You  see  these  hands?  They  have  only  known 
the  gentle  tasks  of  love.  Well,  I'll  scrub,  sew 
and  wash  the  clothes  of  working-men  before  one 
dollar  of  her  gold  shall  stain  them  !" 

"You  cannot  be  so  foolish,"  he  protested,  impa 
tiently.  "Besides,  she  has  given  me  this  money  to 
give  to  you." 

"Ah,  my  love,"  she  went  on,  as  though  she  had 
not  heard  his  last  words,  "if  you  were  frankly  evil  as 
other  men,  I  might  bear  this  shame  with  better 
grace.  Others  before  me,  as  good  as  I,  have  borne 
its  burden.  But  when  I  think  that  you  are  making 
your  sin  a  religion,  and  that  you  are  going  to  preach 
with  the  zeal  of  a  prophet  this  gospel  of  the  brute 
and  call  it  freedom,  how  can  I  bear  it  ?" 


1 82  The  One  Woman 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  moment. 

"Let  us  change  this  disgusting  subject,  Frank," 
she  said  at  length.  "I  wish  you  to  leave  with 
something  kindlier  to  remember  in  my  face  than  this 
shadow.  You  see,  I  have  taken  your  pictures  all 
down  and  locked  them  up.  I  have  placed  your 
clothes,  all  I  could  spare,  in  your  trunk — for  even 
these  little  things  to  me  are  heart  treasures  now.  I 
could  not  let  you  take  the  slippers  I  have  made  for 
you  with  my  own  hands,  or  your  dressing-gowns. 
That  woman  shall  never  touch  them.  The  marriage 
certificate,  with  the  little  poem  written  to  me  on  the 
birth  of  Lucy,  I've  packed  up,  too,  with  your  pictures. 
I've  put  them  away,  because,  just  now,  it  would 
break  my  heart  to  look  at  them  after  this  parting 
with  you.  When  I  come  back  from  the  South  I  will 
be  stronger,  and  I  will  bring  them  out  again.  Your 
ring  is  mine  until  God's  hand  shall  take  it.  I'll 
teach  our  babies  always  to  love  you." 

Her  voice  broke,  and  he  looked  away. 

"I  will  tell  them  that  you  have  gone  on  a  long 
journey  into  a  strange  country,  and  that  you  will 
come  back  again  because  you  love  them." 

He  stirred  uneasily  in  his  chair,  crossed  his  legs 
and  frowned. 

"And  I  wish  you  to  leave  me  to-day  with  the 
certainty — you  can  read  it  in  my  eyes,  if  you  doubt 
my  lips — that  I  will  love  you  to  the  end,  though 
you  kill  me.  You  can  go  on  no  journey  so  long,  in 
no  world  so  strange,  that  I  shall  not  follow.  My 


The  Parting  183 

soul  will  envelop  you.  For  better,  for  worse, 
through  evil  report  and  good  report,  I  am  yours." 

Again  a  convulsive  sob  shook  her,  and  she  was 
silent. 

Gordon  felt  an  almost  resistless  impulse  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  and  soothe  her. 

Through  her  tears  she  smiled  at  him. 

"How  beautiful  you  are,  my  dear  !  You  will  not 
forget  that  I  love  you?  The  spring,  the  summer, 
the  autumn,  the  winter  will  only  bring  to  me  mes 
sages  from  our  past.  The  way  will  be  lonely,  but 
the  memory  of  the  touch  of  your  hand,  our  hours  of 
perfect  peace  and  trustfulness,  the  sweetness  of  your 
kisses  on  my  lips,  the  living  pictures  of  your  face 
in  our  children,  I  will  cherish." 

He  stooped  to  kiss  her  as  he  left,  but  she  drew 
back  trembling. 

"No,  Frank,  not  while  your  lips  are  warm  with 
the  touch  of  another  and  your  flesh  on  fire  with 
desire  for  her.  It  will  be  sweet  to  remember  that 
you  wished  it — for  I  know,  what  you  do  not,  that 
deep  down  in  your  soul  of  souls  you  love  me.  I 
will  abide  God's  time." 

He  left  her  with  a  smile  playing  around  her  sensi 
tive  mouth  and  lighting  the  shadows  of  her  great 
dark  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  THOUGHT  THAT  SWEEPS  THE  CENTURY 

ON  the  Saturday  following  Gordon's  drama  with 
Kate  and  his  wife  his  dream  of  secrecy  was  rudely 
shattered.  Van  Meter's  ferret  eyes,  by  the  aid  of 
his  detectives,  had  fathomed  the  mystery  of  Kate 
Ransom's  appearance  in  the  study  and  her  more 
mysterious  disappearance. 

They  found  that  Gordon  had  separated  from  his 
wife,  after  a  terrific  scene;  that  he  was  a  daily 
visitor  to  the  Ransom  house;  and  that  his  great 
patron  was  none  other  than  the  young  mistress  of 
the  Gramercy  Park  mansion. 

All  day  long  he  was  beseiged  by  reporters.  Ruth 
was  compelled  to  hire  a  man  to  stand  on  the  door 
step  to  keep  them  out.  The  Ransom  house  was 
barred,  but  Gordon  could  not  escape. 

He  saw  at  once  that  they  knew  so  much  it  was 
useless  to  make  denials,  and  he  prepared  a  statement 
for  the  press,  giving  the  facts  and  his  plans  for  the 
future  in  a  ringing  address.  He  submitted  it  to 
Kate  for  her  approval,  and  at  three  o'clock  gave  it 
out  for  publication. 

Their  love  secret  had  not  been  fathomed,  but  it 
had  been  guessed.  He  feared  the  reports  would  be 

184 


The  Thought  That  Sweeps  the  Century      185 

so  written  that  it  would  be  read  between  the  lines 
and  a  great  deal  more  implied. 

His  revolutionary  views  on  marriage  and  divorce 
and  the  fact  that  he  was  from  Indiana,  a  state  that 
had  granted  the  year  before  nearly  five  thousand 
divorces,  one  for  every  five  marriages  celebrated, 
were  made  the  subject  of  special  treatment  by  one 
paper.  They  submitted  to  him  proofs  of  a  six- 
column  article  on  the  subject,  and  asked  for  his 
comments.  He  was  compelled  to  either  deny  or 
repeat  his  utterances  advocating  freedom  of  divorce, 
and  finally  was  badgered  into  admitting  that 
this  feature  was  one  of  the  fundamental  tenets  of 
Socialism. 

He  was  not  ready  for  the  full  pubic  avowal  of  this 
principle,  but  he  was  driven  to  the  wall  and  was 
forced  to  own  it  or  lie.  He  boldly  gave  his 
position,  and  declared  that  marriage  was  a 
fetish,  and  that  its  basis  on  a  union  for  life 
without  regard  to  the  feelings  of  the  parties  was 
a  fountain  of  corruption,  and  was  the  source  of 
the  monopolistic  instincts  that  now  cursed  the 
human  race. 

"Yes,  and  you  can  say,"  he  cried,  "that  I  propose 
to  lead  a  crusade  for  the  emancipation  of  women 
from  the  degradation  of  its  slavery.  Love  bound 
by  chains  is  not  love.  Love  can  only  be  a  reality 
in  Freedom  and  Fellowship." 

This  single  sentence  had  changed  the  colouring 
of  the  whole  story  as  it  appeared  in  the  press  on 


1 86  The  One  Woman 

Sunday  morning,  and  was  the  key  to  the  tremen 
dous  sensation  it  produced. 

The  next  day  long  before  the  hour  of  service  the 
street  in  front  of  the  Pilgrim  Church  was  packed 
with  a  dense  crowd. 

The  police  could  scarcely  clear  the  way  for  the 
members'  entrance.  Within  ten  minutes  from  the 
time  the  large  doors  were  opened  every  seat  was 
filled  and  hundreds  stood  on  the  pavements  outside, 
waiting  developments,  unable  to  gain  admission. 

So  many  statements  had  been  made,  and  so  many 
vicious  insinuations  hinted,  Gordon  was  compelled 
to  lay  aside  his  sermon  and  devote  the  entire  hour  to 
a  defense  of  his  position. 

The  crowd  listened  in  breathless  stillness,  but  he 
knew  from  the  first  he  had  lost  their  sympathies  and 
that  he  was  on  trial.  Unable  to  tell  the  whole 
truth,  his  address  was  as  lame  and  ineffective  as  his 
outburst  the  Sunday  before  had  been  resistless. 
When  he  dismissed  the  crowd  he  noticed  that  some 
of  his  warmest  friends  were  crying. 

As  he  came  down  from  the  pulpit,  Ludlow  took 
him  by  the  hand  and,  with  trembling  voice,  said : 

"Pastor,  you  know  how  I  love  you?" 

What  he  did  not  say  was  more  eloquent  than  a 
thousand  words,  and  it  cut  Gordon  to  his  inmost 
soul.  He  knew  his  failure  had  been  pathetic,  and 
that  his  enemies  were  laughing  over  the  certainty  of 
his  ruin. 

It  angered  him  for  a  moment  as  he  looked  over 


The  Thought  That  Sweeps  the  Century      187 

the  silent  crowd  filing  out  of  his  presence  and  out  of 
his  life. 

He  cursed  their  stolid  conservatism. 

"The  average  man  does  not  aspire  to  liberty  of 
thought,"  he  mused  with  bitterness,  "but  slavery 
of  thought.  The  mob  must  have  its  fixed  formulas 
easy  to  read,  requiring  no  thought.  Well,  let 
them  go." 

Suddenly  a  confused  murmur,  with  loud  voices 
mingled,  came  through  the  doors  of  the  vestibules. 
The  exits  were  blocked,  and  the  moving  crowd 
halted  and  recoiled  on  itself  as  if  hurled  back  by  the 
charge  of  an  opposing  army,  and  a  cheer  echoed  over 
their  heads. 

The  people  inside,  who  had  been  halted,  stretched 
their  necks  to  see  over  the  heads  of  those  in  front, 
crying : 

"What  is  it?" 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"It  sounds  like  a  riot,"  some  one  answered  near 
the  doors. 

Gordon  wedged  himself  through  the  mass  that 
had  been  thrown  back  on  the  advancing  stream 
and  reached  the  doorway.  He  was  astonished  to 
find  packed  in  the  street  more  than  five  thousand 
men,  evidently  working-men  and  Socialists.  They 
had  been  quick  to  recognise  his  position  in  the 
vigorous  statement  he  had  given  to  the  press. 

When  Gordon's  giant  figure  appeared  between  the 
two  opposing  forces  a  wild  cheer  rent  the  air. 


1 88  The  One  Woman 

A  Socialist  leaped  on  the  steps  beside  him  and, 
lifting  his  hat  above  his  head,  cried : 

"Now  again,  men,  three  times  three  for  a  dauntless 
leader,  a  free  man  in  the  image  of  God,  who  dares  to 
think  and  speak  the  truth  !" 

Three  times  the  storm  rolled  over  the  sea  of  faces, 
and  every  hat  was  in  the  air. 

Gordon  lifted  his  big  hand  and  the  tumult  hushed. 

"My  friends,  I  thank  you  for  this  mark  of  your 
fellowship.  At  the  old  Grand  Opera  House,  next 
Sunday  morning,  the  seats  will  be  yours.  You  will 
get  a  comrade's  welcome.  I  will  have  something  to 
say  to  you  that  may  be  worth  your  while  to  hear. ' ' 

The  crowd,  who  had  never  seen  or  heard  him, 
were  impressed  by  his  magnificent  presence  and  his 
trumpet  voice.  They  liked  its  clear  ringing  tones 
and  its  consciousness  of  power. 

The  unexpected  demonstration  restored  his  self- 
respect  and  blotted  out  the  aching  sense  of  failure. 

His  few  words  were  greeted  with  tumultuous 
applause,  renewed  again  and  again.  The  air  was 
charged  with  the  electric  thrill  of  their  enthusiasm. 

Gordon  looked  over  the  seething  mass  of  excited 
men  with  exultant  response. 

He  flushed  and  his  big  fists  involuntarily  closed. 
He  had  felt  in  his  face  the  breath  of  the  spirit  that  is 
driving  the  century  before  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    VOICE    FROM    THE    PAST 

FROM  a  college  town  in  Indiana  the  aged  father, 
William  Gordon,  Professor  Emeritus  of  History 
and  Belles  Lettres,  hurried  to  New  York  to  see  his 
son. 

When  he  read  the  Sunday  morning  papers,  which 
reached  him  about  three  o'clock,  he  pooh-poohed 
the  wild  reports  the  Associated  Press  had  sent  out 
from  New  York  announcing  the  separation  from 
Ruth  and  linking  his  son's  name  in  vulgar  insinua 
tions  with  another  woman. 

He  hastened  to  find  the  telegraph  operator,  and 
got  him  to  open  the  office.  He  sent  a  long  telegram 
to  Frank,  urging  on  him  the  importance  of  correcting 
these  slanderous  reports  immediately. 

He  walked  about  the  town  to  see  his  friends  and 
explain  to  them. 

"It's  all  a  base  slander,"  he  said,  drawing  himself 
up  proudly.  "My  son's  success  has  been  so  phenom 
enal,  he  has  made  bitter  enemies.  The  press  has 
published  these  lies  out  of  malice.  His  popularity 
is  the  cause  of  it.  I  have  wired  him.  He  will 
correct  it  immediately." 

But  when  he  failed  to  receive  a  denial,  and  the 
189 


1 90  The  One  Woman 

Monday's  press  confirmed  the  facts  with  embellish 
ments,  he  quietly  left  home  and  hastened  to  New 
York. 

He  was  a  man  of  striking  personality,  a  little 
taller  than  his  distinguished  son,  six  feet  four  and 
a  half  inches  in  height.  Now,  in  his  eighty-fifth 
year,  he  still  walked  with  quick,  nervous  step,  and 
held  himself  erect  with  military  bearing.  His  face 
was  smooth  and  ruddy,  and  his  voice,  in  contrast 
with  his  enormous  body,  was  keen  and  penetrating. 
When  he  rose  in  a  church  assembly  his  commanding 
figure,  with  its  high  nervous  voice,  caught  every 
eye  and  ear  and  held  them  to  the  last  word. 

He  was  the  most  popular  man  that  had  ever 
occupied  a  chair  in  the  faculty  of  Wabash  College. 
He  taught  his  classes  regularly  until  he  was  eighty 
years  old,  and  when  he  quit  his  active  work  he  was 
still  the  youngest  man  in  spirit  in  the  institution. 
He  read  with  avidity  every  new  book  on  serious 
themes,  and  he  was  not  only  the  best  read  man  in 
the  college  town — he  was  the  best  informed  man 
on  history  and  philosophy  in  the  state,  if  not  in 
the  entire  West.  He  had  the  gift  of  sympathy 
with  the  mind  of  youth  that  fascinated  every  boy 
who  came  in  contact  with  him.  His  genial  and 
beautiful  manners,  his  high  sense  of  honour,  the 
knightly  deference  he  paid  his  students,  his  enthu 
siasm  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  his  quenchless 
thirst  for  truth,  were  to  them  a  source  of  boundless 
admiration  and  loyalty. 


A  Voice  from  the  Past  191 

The  one  supreme  passion  of  his  age  was  love  for 
his  handsome  son  and  pride  in  his  achievements. 
He  had  married  late  in  life,  and  Frank's  mother 
had  died  in  giving  him  birth.  The  tragedy  had 
crushed  him  for  a  year  and  he  went  abroad,  leaving 
the  child  with  a  nurse.  But  on  his  return  he  gave 
to  the  laughing  baby,  with  the  blond  curling  hair 
of  his  mother,  all  the  tenderness  of  his  love  for  the 
dead,  and  his  sorrow  tinged  his  whole  after  life  with 
sweetness  and  romance. 

The  only  evidence  of  advancing  age  was  his 
absentmindedness  from  boylike  brooding  over  the 
days  of  his  courtship  and  marriage  and  his  day 
dreams  about  his  long-lost  love.  He  recognised  it 
at  once  and  laid  down  his  class  work. 

Gordon  met  him  at  the  Grand  Central  Depot  with 
keenest  dread  and  embarrassment.  Hurrying  out 
of  the  crowd,  they  boarded  a  downtown  car  on 
Fourth  Avenue. 

The  old  man  glanced  uneasily  about  and  said: 

"Son,  isn't  this  car  going  down  the  avenue?" 

"Yes,  father.     We  are  going  to  my  hotel." 

"Hotel?  I  don't  want  to  go  to  a  hotel.  I  want 
to  go  to  your  house.  I  want  to  see  Ruth  and  the 
children  at  once." 

"We'll  go  to  my  study  at  the  church  first,  then, 
and  I'll  explain  to  you." 

The  old  man's  brow  wrinkled,  and  he  pressed  his 
lips  tightly  together  to  keep  them  from  trembling. 

Gordon  was  glad  he  had  not  yet  given  orders  for 


192  The  One  Woman 

the  removal  of  his  study,  and  when  they  entered 
he  drew  the  lid  of  his  roll-top  desk  down  quickly, 
that  his  father  might  not  see  Kate's  picture  where 
he  had  once  seen  Ruth's. 

"Of  course,  my  boy,"  the  old  man  began,  "I 
know  there  is  some  terrible  mistake  about  this. 
I  told  my  friends  so  at  the  College.  But  I  couldn't 
wait  for  a  letter,  and  I  couldn't  somehow  understand 
your  telegram.  I'm  getting  a  little  old  now,  so  I 
hurried  on  to  see  you.  I'm  sure  if  you  and  Ruth 
have  quarreled  you  can  make  up  and  begin  over 
again.  Lovers'  quarrels  are  not  so  serious." 
"No,  father,  our  separation  is  final." 
The  old  man  raised  his  hand  in  protest. 
"Nonsense,  boy,  you  have  an  iron  will  and  Ruth 
a  fiery  temper,  but  a  more  lovable  and  beautiful 
spirit  was  never  born  than  your  wife.  I  was  so 
proud  of  her  when  you  brought  her  home !  Of  all 
the  women  in  the  world,  I  felt  she  was  The  One 
Woman  God  had  meant  for  the  mother  of  your 
children.  In  every  way,  mentally  and  physically, 
she  is  your  complement  and  mate.  Your  differ 
ences  only  make  the  needed  contrast  for  perfect 
happiness." 

"But  we  have  drifted  hopelessly  apart,  father." 
"My  son,  the  man  and  woman  whom  God  hath 
made  one  in  the  beat  of  a  child's  heart  cannot  get 
hopelessly  apart.  It's  a  physical  and  moral  impos 
sibility.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  if  your 
mother  had  lived  after  your  birth,  and  we  had 


A  Voice  from  the  Past  193 

bowed  together  over  your  cradle,  height  or  depth, 
things  past,  present  or  to  come,  or  any  other  creature, 
could  have  torn  us  asunder?  You  must  make  up 
this  foolish  quarrel.  You  must  be  patient  with  her 
little  jealousies.  It's  natural  she  should  feel  them 
when  you  are  the  centre  of  so  many  flattering  eyes." 

Gordon  saw  it  was  useless  to  avoid  the  heart  of 
the  difficulty.  So  with  all  the  earnestness  and 
eloquence  he  could  command  he  told  his  father 
the  history  of  Kate  Ransom's  work  in  the  church, 
the  growth  of  their  love,  the  drifting  apart  from 
Ruth,  and  the  final  dramatic  climax  of  the  day  that 
she  gave  the  money  to  build  the  Temple. 

The  old  man  with  fine  courtesy  listened  atten 
tively,  now  and  then  brushing  away  a  tear,  and 
sighing. 

"And  so,  father,"  he  concluded,  "a  divorce  is 
the  only  possible  end  of  it  all." 

"And  what  has  Ruth  to  say?"  he  asked,  patheti 
cally. 

"She  has  accepted  the  situation,  and  at  my 
request  will  bring  the  suit." 

"And  you  will  marry  this  other  woman  while 
Ruth  lives?" 

"Yes,  father,  and  our  union  will  be  a  prophecy 
of  a  redeemed  society  in  which  love,  fellowship, 
comradeship  and  brotherhood  shall  become  the 
laws  of  life." 

The  old  man's  brow  wrinkled  in  pain. 

"But  the  family  at  which  you  aim  this  blow, 


194  The  One  Woman 

my  son,  is  the  basis  of  all  law,  state,  national,  and 
international.  It  is  the  unit  of  society,  the  basis 
of  civilisation  itself.  ../To  destroy  it  is  to  return  to 
he  beast  of  the  field. "\ 

"It  must  be  modified  in  the  evolution  of  human 
freedom,  father." 

"But,  my  son,  it  is  the  law  of  the  Lord,  and  the 
law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect !"  the  old  man  cried, 
with  his  voice  quivering  with  anguish  and  yet 
in  it  the  triumphant  ring  of  the  prophet  and 
seer. 

"Yes,  father,  your  view  of  the  law,"  the  younger 
man  quietly  answered. 

"My  boy,  since  man  has  written  the  story  of  his 
life,  saint  and  seer,  statesman  and  chieftain,  philoso 
pher  and  poet  have  all  agreed  on  this.  There 
can  be  nothing  more  certain  than  that  my  view  is 
true." 

"Just  as  men  have  agreed  on  delusions  and  tradi 
tions  in  theology,  but  you  now  see  as  clearly  as  I 
how  foolish  many  of  these  things  are." 

"But,  my  son,  new  theology  or  old  theology, 
Bible  or  no  Bible,  Heaven  or  no  Heaven,  Hell  or 
no  Hell,  God  or  no  God,  it  is  right  to  do  right !" 
Again  his  high  nervous  voice  rang  like  a  silver 
trumpet. 

"I  am  trying  to  do  right." 

"Yet  greater  wrong  than  this  can  no  man  do  on 
earth — lead,  captivate  the  soul  and  body  of  a 
gracious  and  innocent  girl,  teach  her  the  miracle 


A  Voice  from  the  Past  195 

of  love  in  motherhood,  and  then  desert  her  for  a 
fairer  and  younger  face." 

"  But,  father,  I  cannot  live  a  lie." 

''Then  you  will  cherish,  honour,  love  and  protect 
your  wife  until  death;  and  the  old  marriage  cere 
mony  read,  'until  death  us  do  part.'  Your  vow  is 
eternal  and  goes  beyond  the  physical  incident  of 
death  itself." 

"Yet  how  can  I  control  the  beat  of  my  heart? 
We  must  go  back  to  the  reality  of  Nature  and  her 
eternal  laws,  in  spite  of  illusions  and  theories," 
maintained  the  younger  man. 

"Ah,  my  boy,  these  things  you  call  illusions  I 
call  the  great  faiths  of  our  fathers,  the  revelation  of 
God.  Call  them  what  you  will,  even  if  we  say 
they  are  illusions,  they  are  blessed  illusions.  They 
are  the  steel  bars  behind  which  we  have  caged  the 
crouching,  blind  and  silent  forces  of  nature,  fierce, 
savage  and  cruel  as  death." 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  he  leaned  over  and 
placed  his  trembling  hand  on  Gordon's  arm  and 
added : 

"I  once  felt  the  impulse  to  kill  a  man.  It  was 
natural,  elemental  and  all  but  overpowering.  Re 
member  that  civilisation  itself  is  impossible 
without  tradition.  I  know  that  progress  is  made 
only  by  its  modification  in  growth.  But  growth 
is  not  destruction,  and  progress  is  never  backward 
to  beast  or  savage.  Marriage  is  not  a  mere  conven 
tion  between  a  man  and  a  woman,  subject  to  the 


1 96  The  One  Woman 

whim  of  either  party.  It  is  a  divine  social  ordinance 
on  which  the  structure  of  human  civilisation  has 
been  reared.  It  cannot  be  broken  without  two 
people's  consent  and  the  consent  of  society,  and 
then  only  for  great  causes  which  have  destroyed 
its  meaning." 

"But  I  have  begun  to  question,  father,  whether 
our  civilisation  is  civilised  and  worth  preserving?" 

"And  would  you  civilise  it  by  giving  free  rein 
to  impulses  of  nature  that  are  subconscious,  that 
lead  direct  to  the  reign  of  lust  and  murder?  Is 
not  man  more  than  brute?  Has  he  not  a  soul? 
Is  the  spirit  a  delusion?  Ah,  my  boy,  do  you 
doubt  my  love?" 

"I  know  that  you  love  me." 

"Yes,  with  a  love  you  cannot  understand.  You 
can  touch  no  depths  to  which  I  will  not  follow 
with  that  love.  But  I'd  rather  a  thousand  times 
see  you  cold  in  death  than  hear  from  your  lips  the 
awful  words  you  have  spoken  in  this  room  here 
this  morning  with  the  face  of  Jesus  looking  down 
upon  us  from  your  walls." 

He  seemed  to  sink  into  a  stupor  for  several 
moments,  and  was  silent  as  he  gazed  into  the 
glowing  grate. 

At  length  he  said: 

"  You  must  take  me  to  your  house.  I  will  spend 
a  few  days  with  Ruth  and  the  children." 

Gordon  could  not  face  the  meeting  between  his 
father  and  Ruth.  He  accompanied  him  to  the 


A  Voice  from  the  Past  197 

door  and  gently  bade  him  good-by,  promising  to 
call  the  next  day. 

A  singularly  beautiful  love  the  old  man  had 
bestowed  on  Ruth,  and  she  on  him;  for  he  was 
resistless  to  all  the  young.  When  he  kissed  her  as 
Frank's  bride  he  seemed  to  have  first  fully  recovered 
his  spirits  from  the  shadows  of  his  own  tragedy. 
In  her  great  soft  eyes  with  the  lashes  mirrored  in 
their  depths,  her  dimpled  chin  and  sensitive  mouth, 
her  refined  and  timid  nature,  the  grace  and  delicacy 
of  her  footsteps,  he  saw  come  back  into  life  his 
own  lost  love.  Above  all,  he  was  fascinated  by 
her  spiritual  charm,  haunting  and  vivid.  He  had 
never  tired  of  boasting  of  his  son's  charming  little 
wife,  and  he  loved  her  with  a  devotion  as  deep  as 
that  he  gave  his  own  flesh  and  blood. 

When  she  entered  the  room,  in  spite  of  his  efforts 
at  control,  he  burst  into  tears  as  he  kissed  her 
tenderly  and  slipped  his  arm  softly  around  her. 

"Ruth,  my  sweet  daughter!"  he  sobbed. 

"Father,  dear!" 

"  You  must  cheer  up,  my  little  one;  I've  come  to 
help  you." 

"  You  must  not  take  it  so  hard,  father.  It  will  all 
come  out  for  the  best.  God  is  not  dead;  He  will 
not  forget  me.  I'm  a  tiny  mite  in  body,  but  you 
know  I've  a  valiant  soul.  You  must  cheer  up. " 

She  led  him  gently  to  a  seat. 

"I'll  bring  the  children  now;  they'll  be  wild  with 
joy  when  I  tell  them  grandfather  is  here. " 


198  The  One  Woman 

But  at  the  sight  of  the  children  the  old  man  broke 
completely  down  and  sat  with  his  great  head  sunk 
on  his  breast. 

He  drew  Ruth  down  and  whispered : 

''Take  them  away,  dear.  It's  too  much.  I — 
can't — see — them — now. " 

When  she  returned  from  the  nursery,  he  said: 

"Come,  Ruth,  sit  beside  me  and  tell  me  about  it, 
and  I'll  see  my  way  clearer  how  to  help  you. " 

She  drew  a  stool  beside  his  chair,  leaned  her  head 
against  his  knee,  took  one  of  his  hands  in  hers,  and, 
while  his  other  stroked  her  raven  hair,  she  gently 
and  without  reproach  told  him  all. 

When  she  had  finished,  his  eyes  were  heavy  with 
grief  beyond  the  power  of  tears. 

"  And — my — boy — told — you — to —  take  — this  — 
— money,  Ruth?"  he  slowly  and  sorrowfully  asked. 

"Yes,  father." 

"Do  you  know  an  honest  lawyer,  dear?" 

"Yes;  an  old  friend  of  mine,  Morris  King." 

"Call  him  over  your  telephone  immediately,  and 
take  me  to  your  desk.  My  fortune  is  not  large,  as 
the  world  reckons  wealth — perhaps  fifty  thousand 
dollars  carefully  saved  during  the  past  thirty  years 
of  frugal  living.  It  shall  be  yours,  my  dear.  " 

"But,  father,  you  must  not  take  it  from  yourself 
in  your  age  !" 

"  Are  you  not  my  beloved  daughter  ?  And  do  not 
your  babies  call  me  grandfather?  It's  such  a  poor 
little  thing  I  can  do.  I've  enough  in  bank  to  last 


A  Voice  from  the  Past  199 

me  to  the  journey's  end,  and  I'll  stay  near  to  watch 
over  you.  I  can  have  no  other  home  now." 

The  lawyer  came  within  an  hour,  and  the  will  was 
duly  witnessed. 

He  handed  it  to  Ruth  and  she  kissed  and  thanked 
him. 

'He  wandered  about  the  house  in  a  helpless  sort  of 
way  for  half  an  hour,  sighing.  His  great  shoulders 
for  the  first  time  in  his  long  life  lost. their  military 
bearing  and  drooped  heavily. 

Ruth  watched  him  pace  slowly  back  and  forth 
with  his  hands  folded  behind  him,  his  head  sunk 
in  a  stupor  of  dull  pain,  wondering  what  she  could 
do  or  say  to  cheer  him,  when  he  suddenly  stopped 
and  sank  into  a  heap  on  the  floor. 

The  doctor  came  and  shook  his  head. 

"He  may  regain  consciousness,  Mrs.  Gordon,  but 
he  cannot  live. " 

Ruth  called  the  hotel  and  summoned  Frank.  He 
was  out  and  did  not  get  the  message  until  five  o'clock. 
When  he  reached  the  house  she  was  by  the  bedside. 
The  old  man  was  holding  her  hand  and  talking  in 
a  half -delirious  way  to  his  friends,  explaining  to 
them  how  impossible  that  these  wild  reports  could 
be  true  about  his  son. 

Soon  after  Gordon  came  he  regained  consciousness. 
Taking  him  by  the  hand  he  said : 

"Well,  my  boy,  my  work  is  done.  I  have  fought 
a  good  fight.  I  have  kept  the  faith.  I  love  you 
always.  You  will  not  forget — right  or  wrong,  you 


200  The  One  Woman 

are  my  heart's  blood  and  your  mother's,  dearer  to 
me  than  life.  When  I  go  from  this  lump  of  clay, 
if  you  will  open  my  breast  you  will  find  an  old  man's 
broken  heart,  and  across  the  rent  your  name  will  be 
written  in  the  ragged  edges.  How  handsome  you 
are  to-night !  How  fair  a  lad  you  were  !  Such  face 
and  form  and  high-strung  soul,  the  heart  of  an 
ancient  knight  come  back  to  earth,  I  used  to  boast ! 
God's  grace  is  wonderful,  His  ways  past  finding  out. 
When  we  seem  forsaken,  He  is  but  preparing  larger 
blessings  on  some  grander  plan  whose  end  we  do 
not  see.  He  is  my  shepherd;  I  shall  not  want. 
He  leadeth  me — I — rest — in — Him. " 

As  the  twilight  wrapped  the  great  city  in  its  gray 
shadows,  slowly  deepening  into  night,  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER   XIX 
THE  WEDDING  OF  THE  ANNUNCIATION 

AT  the  end  of  a  year  from  the  death  of  Gordon's 
father  the  divorce  was  granted,  and  Ruth  elected  to 
retain  her  married  name. 

The  Temple  of  Man  was  rapidly  rising.  The  build 
ing  fronted  three  hundred  feet  on  each  cross  street. 
Its  great  steel-ribbed  dome,  modeled  on  the  capitol 
at  Washington,  was  slowly  climbing  into  the  sky 
from  the  centre  to  dominate  the  architecture  of  the 
Metropolitan  district. 

The  success  of  Gordon's  meetings  in  the  old 
Grand  Opera  House  had  been  enormous.  Its 
four  thousand  seats  were  filled  and  every  inch 
of  standing-room  the  police  would  allow.  The 
religious  element  in  Socialism  had  found  in 
him  its  high  priest.  His  eloquence,  his  mag 
netism,  his  daring,  his  aggressive  and  radical 
instinct  for  leadership  made  him  at  once  their 
idol. 

'The  prestige  given  him  by  the  rapid  building  of 
his  magnificent  Temple  in  the  heart  of  the  wealth 
and  splendour  of  the  Metropolis,  and  the  crush  for 
admission  by  strangers  who  had  read  of  him  and  his 
work,  were  adding  daily  to  his  power. 

201 


202  The  One  Woman 

His  bold  avowal  of  love  for  Kate  Ransom,  and  his 
determination  to  win  and  marry  her  by  a  new  cere 
mony  of  "announcement,"  which  should  challenge 
the  forms  of  civilisation,  had  stilled  the  tongue  of 
gossip  and  made  him  the  hero  of  the  sentimental. 

At  the  same  time  it  had  made  him  the  object  of 
bitter  attack  by  the  conservative  forces  of  society, 
and  the  violence  of  these  attacks  daily  added  impor 
tance  to  his  every  act. 

His  triumphant  appeal  to  the  masses  against  the 
classes  was  making  him  a  matter  spirit  of  the  modern 
mob  that  has  humbled  king,  emperor  and  pope,  at 
whose  breath  statesmen  tremble,  and  at  whose  feet 
coward  and  sycophant  of  every  cult  cringe  and  fawn. 

With  fierce  enthusiasm  he  proclaimed:  "Now  is 
Eternity.  To  reach  Heaven  we  must  build  a  new 
earth,  and  lo  !  we  are  in  Heaven." 

The  response  from  sullen  working-men  who  had 
hitherto  held  aloof  from  Socialism  and  its  leaders  was 
remarkable.  With  the  fiery  zeal  of  the  pioneer  of  a 
religious  movement  he  preached  in  season  and  out  of 
season  his  new  faith,  and  proselyted  with  success 
even  among  those  who  scoffed. 

He  gave  a  new  emphasis  to  the  dogma  of  the 
Imminence  of  God,  the  charming  Pantheism  of  which 
appealed  to  the  childlike  minds  of  the  people.  With 
mystic  fervour  he  proclaimed  the  unity  of  life,  and 
in  all  and  over  all  and  working  through  all — God  ! 
In  bud  and  flower,  in  sun  and  storm,  in  dewdrop 
and  star,  in  man  and  beast,  in  soul  and  body,  the 


The  Wedding  of  the  Annunciation         203 

divine  everywhere.  As  never  before  he  glorified 
the  body  and  its  beauty  as  the  incarnation  of  God, 
His  veritable  image.  The  advent  of  every  child  he 
hailed  as  great  a  miracle  as  the  birth  of  the  Babe  of 
Bethlehem. 

Life  itself  became  an  ever-growing  wonder,  and 
existence  an  infinite  joy.  Gradually  he  began  to 
ridicule  the  theology  of  "Sin."  "Sin"  he  declared 
a  figment  of  the  human  mind.  The  sin  which  is  the 
wilful  and  persistent  violation  of  known  law  he 
ignored. 

He  proclaimed  the  advent  of  the  Kingdom  of  Love 
universal,  all  embracing,  all  conquering. 

His  marriage  to  Kate  Ransom  by  the  new  cere 
mony  he  had  devised  commanded  the  attention  of 
the  world.  Its  romance,  and  the  tragedy  of  a  broken 
heart  behind  it,  at  once  interested  the  average  mind ; 
and  its  social  and  religious  challenge  appealed  to  the 
thoughtful. 

It  was  announced  to  be  a  marriage  without  form  or 
ceremony.  It  was  celebrated  on  a  Saturday  evening, 
that  his  friends  among  the  working-men  might 
attend. 

It  was  early  in  May.  The  grass  was  green 
behind  the  high  iron  bars  of  Gramercy  Park, 
and  the  trees  were  putting  on  their  new 
satin  robes.  The  air  was  warm  with  the 
sensuous  languor  of  spring.  The  rain  poured  in 
torrents,  but  the  Ransom  mansion  was  a  blaze  of 
light,  and  a  canopy  with  rubber  roof  stretched  > 


204  The  One  Woman 

down  the  high  brownstone  steps  across  the 
sidewalk  to  the  curbing. 

It  was  past  the  appointed  time,  the  last  carriage 
had  long  since  snapped  its  silver  lock  beside  the 
awning,  and  still  the  bride  and  groom  tarried.  The 
guests  were  assembled  in  the  great  parlours,  and  a 
band  in  the  conservatory,  from  which  floated  the 
perfume  of  flowers  in  full  bloom,  was  softly  playing 
primitive  love  melodies,  simple,  tender  and  full  of 
mysterious  beauty. 

Besides  the  personal  friends  of  the  bride,  the 
guests  assembled  were  a  remarkable  group. 

A  churchless  clergyman  who  had  become  a  Social 
ist,  and  whose  church  building  was  for  sale,  was  on 
hand  to  make  the  ''Announcement."  A  handsome 
poet,  a  disciple  of  William  Morris  and  a  man  of 
international  fame,  was  there.  Socialists,  Anarch 
ists,  Theosophists,  Spiritualists,  Buddhists,  Chris 
tian  Scientists,  Communists,  Single-Taxers,  Walking 
Delegates,  Presidents  of  Labour-Unions,  editors  of 
Radical  papers,  Ethical  gymnasts,  and  lecturers 
mingled  in  the  throng. 

Kate  refused  to  allow  Gordon  to  see  or  speak  to 
her  before  her  entrance.  They  had  agreed  to  make 
no  elaborate  preparations.  She  was  to  prepare  no 
traditional  wedding  trousseau.  They  were  simply 
to  stand  by  each  other's  side  before  their  friends, 
greet  them  with  the  announcement  of  their  love  and 
unity  of  life,  and  receive  their  congratulations. 

When  she  at  length  summoned  Gordon,  he  was 


The  Wedding  of  the  Annunciation         205 

amazed  to  see  her  arrayed  in  the  most  magnificent 
conventional  bridal  dress  he  had  ever  seen. 

A  frown  clouded  his  brow  for  an  instant,  and  then 
melted  into  a  smile  as  his  eyes  feasted  on  the  barbaric 
splendour  of  her  beauty. 

She  stood  silent  and  thoughtful,  with  her  arms 
folded  in  front  across  the  lines  of  her  voluptuous  form, 
her  head  poised  high,  erect  as  an  arrow.  Her  mass 
of  dark  red  hair  rolled  upward  in  a  great  curling  wave 
from  her  face.  From  its  crest  a  bunch  of  orange 
blossoms  gleamed,  clasping  the  filmy  veil  which  fell, 
a  white  cascade,  over  the  wilderness  of  delicate  lace 
forming  her  train.  She  had  turned  half  around,  and 
this  great  train  of  shimmering  stuff  enveloped  her 
feet  and  swept  out  in  graceful  curve  into  the  room. 
The  collar,  which  completely  covered  her  rounded 
neck,  was  made  of  rows  of  linked  opals,  and  a  neck 
lace  of  pearls  rested  on  her  beautiful  breast,  spread 
ing  out  in  heart  shape,  with  a  single  strand  encircling 
the  neck. 

Her  face  was  tragic  in  its  seriousness.  A  new  and 
charming  melancholy  shadowed  her  violet  eyes, 
causing  the  heavy  lashes  to  droop  till  their  shadows 
showed  on  the  creamy  velvet  of  her  cheek.  Her 
mouth,  with  scarlet  lips  drawn  close,  was  earnest 
and  solemn  as  he  had  never  seen  it. 

With  the  regal  bearing  of  a  queen  she  looked  at 
him  thoughtfully  without  a  word.  She  was  giving 
him  his  first  lesson  in  perfect  freedom  and  perfect 
equality  of  will.  She  had  changed  her  mind  at  the 


206  The  One  Woman 

last  moment  and  determined  to  be  the  bride  her 
girlhood  dreams  had  pictured. 

But  the  man  saw  only  the  ripened,  luscious 
woman  in  the  hour  of  supreme  surrender,  and  gazed 
in  rapture.  So  superb  was  her  health,  so  rich  and 
vital  the  splendid  figure,  no  conventional  art  of 
bridal  costumer  could  confine  or  conceal  the  glory 
of  its  beauty. 

"You  see,  my  beloved,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  going 
to  promise  to  obey,  so  I  have  chosen  with  this  old 
conceit  to  disobey  your  first  expressed  wish.  Do 
you  like  me  thus  ?" 

"You  are  glorious  !"  he  answered,  smiling. 

' '  And  my  father  will  give  me  away,  and  you  will 
place  a  ring  on  my  hand  when  you  make  your  little 
speech,  before  I  respond." 

He  bowed  gracefully.     "As  you  will,  my  dear." 

He  would  have  promised  anything. 

As  they  entered  the  hall  leading  to  the  crowded 
parlours,  the  organ  in  the  music-room  suddenly 
burst  into  the  strains  of  the  Wedding  March,  and 
again  she  looked  seriously  into  his  face,  and  he 
laughed. 

"My  beautiful  rebel,  I'll  tame  you  in  due  time, 
never  fear  !" 

"And  you're  not  angry?" 

"Angry?  I  am  more  madly  in  love  than 
ever." 

And  she  flushed  in  triumph. 

When  they  had  entered    the    room,  the   invalid 


The  Wedding  of  the  Annunciation         207 

father  rose,  pale  and  trembling,  and,  in  accordance 
with  Kate's  wishes,  declared: 

"My  friends,  I  announce  to  you  that  I  have  given 
my  daughter  to  be  married  unto  this  man." 

Gordon  took  her  hot  hand  in  his  massive  grasp 
and  said: 

"We  believe,  friends,  in  fellowship.  We  have 
asked  you  to-night  to  share  with  us  the  sacrament  of 
the  unity  of  our  lives  which  we  thus  announce. 
For  years  this  unity  has  made  us  one.  We  thus 
make  it  manifest  unto  the  world.  In  the  woman  I 
have  chosen  as  my  comrade,  behold  the  living  soul 
of  serene-browed  Grecian  goddess  and  German 
seeress  of  old,  whose  untamed  eyes  of  primeval 
womanhood,  the  equal  and  the  mate  of  man,  pro 
claim  the  end  of  slave -marriage  and  the  dawn  of 
perfect  love." 

He  placed  the  ring  on  her  hand,  and  Kate  re 
sponded  : 

"This  is  the  day  and  the  hour  that  w@  have  chosen 
to  announce  to  you  our  union." 

The  Socialist  preacher  said : 

"We  are  here  to-day,  called  by  a  sacrament,  not 
in  the  conventional  sense,  but  in  the  elemental 
meaning  of  the  word  which  reflects  the  mind  and  the 
being  of  the  Eternal.  Human  life  incarnates  God. 
We  are  not  met  here  to  inaugurate  a  marriage. 
Words  can  add  nothing  to  the  sublime  fact  of  the 
union  of  two  souls.  This  is  the  supreme  sacrament 
of  human  experience.  It  proclaims  its  inherent 


208  The  One  Woman 

divinity.  This  oneness  no  more  begins  to-day 
than  God  does.  Time  loses  its  meaning,  but  there 
is  no  yesterday  or  to-morrow  in  the  harmony  and 
rhythm  of  two  such  souls.  Love  holds  all  the  years 
that  have  been  and  are  to  be. 

'This  is  a  day  of  joy — overflowing,  unsullied, 
serene,  a  day  of  hope,  a  day  of  faith.  It  is  a  day  of 
courage  and  of  cheer,  and  to  the  world  it  speaks 
a  gospel  of  freedom  and  fellowship.  It  proclaims 
the  dawn  of  a  higher  life  for  all,  the  sanctity  and 
omnipotence  of  love.  It  asserts  the  elemental 
rights  of  man.  These  friends  of  ours  announce 
to-day  their  marriage. 

"Inasmuch  as  Frank  Gordon  and  Kate  Ransom 
are  thus  united  in  love,  I  announce  that  they  are 
husband  and  wife  by  every  law  of  right  and  truth, 
and  pray  for  them  the  abiding  gladness  that  dwells 
in  the  heart  of  God  forever." 

Kate's  mother  kissed  her  and  cried  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way,  and  they  sailed  next  day  for  a  bridal 
tour  abroad. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN  OLD  SWEETHEART 

RUTH  had  fulfilled  Gordon's  prediction.  She 
had  lifted  up  her  head  and  serenely  entered  her 
new  and  trying  life. 

The  year  had  brought  many  bitter  days,  but  she 
had  bravely  met  each  crisis.  She  had  hoped  to 
maintain  her  membership  in  the  Pilgrim  Church, 
and  with  humility  and  earnestness  returned  to  her 
duties.  The  new  pastor  had  given  her  a  hearty 
greeting,  but  the  task  was  beyond  her  strength. 
She  found  that  she  no  longer  held  her  former  social 
position — in  fact,  that  she  had  no  social  status.  The 
best  people  of  the  church  were  coolly  polite  and 
clumsily  sympathetic.  She  preferred  their  coolness. 
The  poorer  people  were  frankly  afraid  of  her.  The 
innocent  victim  of  a  tragedy,  the  world  held  that  she 
was  somehow  to  blame — perhaps  was  equally  guilty 
with  the  man.  She  suddenly  found  herself  outside 
the  pale  of  polite  society. 

She  was  stunned  at  first  by  this  brutal  attitude 
of  the  world.  To  women  of  weaker  character  such 
a  blow  had  often  proved  fatal  in  this  defenseless 
hour.  To  her  it  was  a  stimulus  to  higher  things. 
She  fled  to  the  solitude  of  her  home  and  found 

209 


2io  The  One  Woman 

refuge  in  the  laughter  of  her  children.  She  cried  an 
hour  or  two  over  it,  and  then  swept  the  thought 
from  her  heart,  lifted  up  her  proud  little  head  and 
moved  on  the  even  tenor  of  her  way. 

But  greater  troubles  awaited.  She  had  no  busi 
ness  training  and  met  with  misfortune  in  the  man 
agement  of  her  property. 

Morris  King  had  been  her  attorney,  since  she  first 
came  to  New  York,  in  the  management  of  a  small 
trust  estate.  He  had  always  refused  any  fee,  and 
she  had  accepted  this  mark  of  his  faithfulness  to 
their  youthful  romance  simply  and  graciously. 
Secure  in  Gordon's  love,  she  had  long  since  ceased  to 
consider  the  existence  of  any  other  man  as  a  being 
capable  of  love.  Marriage  had  engulfed  her  whole 
being  and  life,  past,  present,  future. 

But  the  tender  light  in  King's  eyes  when  he  called 
to  see  her  on  her  arrival  from  the  South  was  unmis 
takable. 

She  was  startled  and  annoyed,  curtly  dismissed 
him  as  her  attorney  and  undertook  the  management 
of  her  own  business  affairs. 

Within  six  months  she  had  invested  her  estate  in 
stocks  that  had  ceased  to  pay  an  income  and  were 
daily  depreciating. 

When  her  support  failed,  she  advertised  for  pupils 
to  teach  in  her  home,  obtained  two  scholars,  and 
they  were  from  parents  whose  ability  to  pay  was  a 
matter  of  doubt.  But  she  had  bravely  begun  and 
hoped  to  succeed. 


An  Old  Sweetheart  211 

When  King  saw  her  pathetic  little  advertisement 
he  threw  aside  his  pride  and  called  promptly  to  see 
her. 

He  was  a  muscular  young  bachelor  of  thirty-seven. 
A  heavy  shock  of  black  hair  covered  his  head,  and 
his  upper  lip  was  adorned  by  a  handsome  black 
moustache. 

He  was  a  leader  of  the  Tammany  Democracy, 
a  member  of  a  firm  of  lawyers,  and  had  served  one 
term  in  Congress. 

He  had  made  himself  famous  in  a  speech  in  the 
National  Convention  in  which  he  had  attacked  the 
reform  element  of  his  own  party  seeking  admission 
with  such  violence,  such  insolent  and  fierce  invec 
tive,  he  had  captured  the  imagination  of  his  party 
in  New  York.  He  was  slated  as  the  machine  can 
didate  for  Governor  of  the  Empire  State  and  was 
almost  certain  of  election.  Visions  of  the  White 
House,  ghosts  which  ever  haunt  the  Executive 
Mansion  at  Albany,  were  already  keeping  him 
awake  at  night. 

He  was  a  man  of  strong  will,  of  boundless  per 
sonal  ambitions,  and  in  politics  he  was  regarded  as 
the  most  astute,  powerful  and  unscrupulous  leader  in 
the  state.  His  personal  habits  were  simple  and 
clean  to  the  point  of  aceticism.  His  political 
enemies  declared  in  disgust  that  he  had  no  redeeming 
vices.  He  was  a  teetotaler,  and  yet  the  champion 
of  the  saloon  and  the  idol  of  the  saloon-keepers' 
association.  He  did  not  smoke  or  gamble,  and  was 


212  The  One  Woman 

never  known  to  call  on  a  woman  except  as  a 
business  duty. 

In  his  profession  he  was  honest,  dignified,  pur 
poseful  and  successful.  He  had  landed  in  New  York 
fourteen  years  before  with  ten  cents  in  his  pocket, 
and  his  income  now  was  never  less  than  twenty 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  He  had  received  a  single 
fee  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  a  celebrated  case. 

Before  coming  to  New  York  he  was  a  poor  young 
lawyer  in  the  village  of  Hampton,  Virginia,  just 
admitted  to  the  bar.  But  the  law  did  not  seriously 
disturb  his  mind.  His  real  occupation  was  making 
love  to  Ruth  Spottswood,  who  lived  across  the  street 
in  a  quaint  old  Colonial  cottage.  If  any  client  ever 
attempted  to  get  into  his  office,  it  was  more  than  he 
knew.  He  was  too  busy  with  Ruth  to  allow  other 
people's  troubles  to  interfere  with  the  work  of  his 
life. 

He  had  taken  her  to  the  ball  at  the  Hygeia  the 
night  she  met  Gordon,  little  dreaming  that  this  long- 
legged  Yankee  parson  from  the  West,  who  did  not 
even  know  how  to  dance,  would  hang  around  the 
edges  of  the  ballroom  and  take  her  from  him. 
They  were  engaged  after  the  child  fashion  of 
Southern  girls  and  boys — always  with  the  tacit 
understanding  that  if  they  saw  anybody  they 
liked  better  it  could  be  broken  at  an  hour's 
notice. 

The  next  day  when  he  called  Ruth  said  with  a 
laugh : 


An  Old  Sweetheart  213 

"Well,  Morris,  our  engagement  ends  at  three 
o'clock  this  afternoon.  A  handsomer  man  is  going 
to  call.  You  must  clear  out  and  attend  to  your 
business." 

"Oh,  hang  the  law,  Ruth.  I'll  sit  out  under  the 
trees  and  write  you  a  poem  till  this  Yankee  goes." 

"  No,  I  don't  propose  to  be  handicapped.  We  are 
not  engaged  any  more,  and  you  can't  come  till  I  tell 
you." 

He  put  up  a  brave  fight,  selling  his  law  books  to 
buy  candy  and  pay  the  livery  bill  for  buggy  rides, 
but  it  was  all  in  vain. 

At  last,  when  she  told  him  she  was  going  to  marry 
Gordon  and  the  day  had  been  fixed,  he  turned  pale, 
looked  at  her  long  and  tenderly  and  stammered: 

"I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy,  Ruth.  But  you've 
killed  me." 

"Don't  be  silly,"  she  cried.  "Go  to  work  and  be  a 
great  man." 

He  closed  his  law  office  and  went  over  to  Norfolk, 
debating  the  question  of  suicide  or  murder.  He 
walked  along  the  river-front  to  pick  out  a  place  to 
jump  overboard,  but  the  water  looked  too  black 
and  filthy  and  cold.  He  saw  a  steamer  loading, 
boarded  her,  and  landed  in  New  York  with  ten 
cents  in  his  pocket  and  not  a  friend  on  earth  that 
he  knew. 

He  had  never  spoken  a  word  of  love  to  a  woman 
since.  Ambition  was  his  god,  and  yet,  mingled 
with  its  fierce  cult,  its  conflicts  and  turmoil,  he  had 


214  The  One  Woman 

cherished  a  boyish  loyalty  to  Ruth's  last  words  as 
she  dismissed  him. 

"  Be  a  great  man,"  she  had  said.  He  would — and 
he  had  dreamed  that  some  day,  perhaps,  he  might 
say  to  her:  "  Behold,  I  am  your  knight  of  youthful 
chivalry.  Your  command  has  been  my  law.  It 
is  all  yours." 

The  day  she  had  curtly  dismissed  him  as  her 
attorney  he  was  elated  with  the  first  assurance  his 
associates  had  given  him  that  he  would  be  the  next 
Governor  of  New  York.  Her  unexpected  rebuff 
had  cut  his  pride  to  the  quick.  The  old  hurt  was 
bruised  again,  and  by  a  woman  who  had  been 
deserted  by  a  cavalier  husband.  He  had  sworn 
in  the  wrath  of  a  strong  man  he  would  go  this  time 
and  never  return.  And  now  he  was  hurrying  back 
to  her  side  and  cursing  himself  for  being  a  fool. 

She  greeted  him  cordially. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Morris,"  she  frankly  said — 
she  had  always  called  him  by  his  first  name.  "I've 
gotten  into  deep  waters  since  I  sent  you  away  so 
foolishly.  I  would  have  sent  for  you,  but  I  was 
afraid  you  were  angry  and  would  not  come.  I've 
had  about  as  many  humiliations  as  I  can  bear  for 
awhile." 

He  looked  at  her  reproachfully. 

"You  did  treat  me  shamefully,  Ruth,  after  years 
of  faithful  service.  I  don't  know  why.  I  might 
guess  if  I  tried.  When  I  saw  that  pitiful  card  this 
morning,  I  knew  what  it  meant.  So  I've  come  back 


An  Old  Sweetheart  215 

to  take  charge  of  your  business.  And  you  can't 
run  me  away  with  a  stick.  I  am  going  to  look 
after  your  property  and  make  it  earn  you  a  living." 

"It  is  very  good  of  you,  and  I  am  grateful,"  she 
replied,  gently. 

"  How  much  are  your  stocks  worth  ?" 

11  About  forty  thousand  dollars,  I'm  told.  But 
I  can't  sell  them.  They  are  not  listed  on  the 
Exchange." 

"I'll  sell  them  for  you,  and  by  the  end  of  the 
week  have  your  money  paying  you  an  income  of 
two  hundred  dollars  a  month.  Send  those  two 
children  home.  You  were  not  made  for  a  school 
teacher." 

He  looked  at  her  with  intensity,  and  she  lowered 
her  eyes  in  embarrassment. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked  swiftly  to  the 
window,  and  then  came  back  and  sat  down  beside 
her. 

"Ruth,"  he  said,  impulsively,  "it's  no  use  in 
my  trying  to  lie  to  you.  We  might  as  well  under 
stand  one  another  at  once.  Of  course,  I  know  why 
you  sent  me  away." 

"  Please,  Morris,  don't  say  any  more,"  she  pleaded. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  he  cried.  "I  love  you.  How 
could  I  keep  you  from  seeing  it  in  my  eyes,  when  you 
were  free  at  last,  and  I  knew  you  might  be  mine?" 

"  You  must  not  say  this  to  me  !"  she  protested. 

He  scowled  and  pursed  his  lips. 

"I   will.     I   am   coming   to   this   house   when   I 


216  The  One  Woman 

please.  I  am  going  to  give  you  the  protection  of 
my  life.  Every  dollar  I  have,  every  moment  of 
my  time  shall  be  yours  if  you  need  it.  Ah,  Ruth, 
how  I  have  loved  you  through  the  desolate  years 
since  you  sent  me  away !  Men  have  called  me 
cold  and  selfish  and  ambitious,  when  I  was  lying 
awake  at  night  eating  my  heart  out  dreaming  of 
you.  Every  hour  of  work,  every  step  I've  climbed 
in  the  struggle  of  life,  was  with  your  face  smiling 
on  me  from  the  past.  All  my  hopes  and  ambitions 
I  owe  to  you.  The  last  message  you  spoke  to 
me  has  been  my  guiding  star.  And  when  this  man 
threw  you  from  him  as  a  cast-off  garment — you, 
the  beautiful  queen  of  my  soul — I  would  have 
killed  him  but  for  the  fierce  joy  that  now  I  could 
win  you  I" 

She  shook  her  head  and  a  look  of  pain  overspread 
her  face. 

"  I  know  what  you  will  say,"  he  went  on  rapidly. 
"You  need  not  protest.  I  will  be  patient.  I  will 
wait,  but  I  will  win  you.  I've  sworn  it  by  every 
oath  that  can  bind  the  soul.  I  have  no  other 
purpose  in  life.  I'm  going  to  be  the  Governor  of 
New  York  simply  because  I'm  going  to  lift  you 
from  the  shame  this  man  has  heaped  upon  you  and 
make  you  the  mistress  of  the  Governor's  mansion 
of  this  mighty  state.  Washington  is  but  one 
step  from  Albany.  My  dream  is  for  you.  I  will 
be  to  you  the  soul  of  deference  and  of  tender 
honour.  Your  slightest  wish  will  be  my  law.  I 


An  Old  Sweetheart  217 

will  be  silent  if  you  command.  But  you  cannot 
keep  me  away.  If  you  leave  me,  I  will  follow  you 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth." 

Ruth  was  softly  crying. 

"You  must  not  cry,  my  love.  I  will  make  your 
life  glorious,  and  light  every  shadow  with  the 
tenderness  of  a  strong  man's  worship." 

"And  you  love  me  like  this  when  another  has 
robbed  my  soul  and  body  of  their  treasures  and 
cast  me  aside?"  she  asked,  wistfully. 

His  mouth  suddenly  tightened  and  his  eyes 
flashed. 

"  Yes,  and  I'd  love  you  so  if  you  were  broken  and 
every  trace  of  beauty  gone.  My  love  would  be  so 
warm  and  tender  and  true  it  would  bring  back  the 
light  into  your  eyes,  the  roses  to  your  cheeks,  and 
life  even  to  your  dead  soul." 

"How  strange  the  ways  of  God !"  she  exclaimed, 
through  her  tears. 

He  looked  at  her  with  yearning  tenderness. 

"  But  you  are  not  old  or  broken,  Ruth.  You 
have  grown  more  beautiful.  This  great  sorrow 
has  smoothed  from  your  face  every  line  of  fretfulness 
and  worry,  and  lighted  it  with  the  mystery  and 
pathos  of  an  unearthly  beauty.  It  shines  from 
your  heroic  soul  until  your  whole  being  has  come 
into  harmony  with  it.  I  loved  you  in  the  past;  I 
worship  you  now." 

She  turned  on  him  a  look  of  gratitude. 

"Worry   and  jealousy   did   exhaust  me.     I   am 


218  The  One  Woman 

glad  you  see  in  my  face  and  form  the  change  reflected 
from  within.  It  is  very  sweet  to  me,  this  flattery 
you  pour  on  my  broken  heart.  I  thank  you,  Morris. 
You  have  restored  my  self-respect  and  given  me 
strength.  It  is  an  honour  to  receive  such  love 
from  an  honest  man.  You  must  not  think  ill  of 
me  if  I  tell  you  I  cannot  love  you." 

"1*11  make  you!"  he  cried,  fiercely.  "You 
cannot  cling  to  the  memory  of  a  man  so  base 
and  false." 

"  He  is  my  husband.     I  love  him." 

King  flushed  with  anger. 

"He  is  not  your  husband.  He  has  deserted  you, 
lured  by  the  beauty  of  another  woman." 

A  gleam  of  fire  flashed  from  her  eyes,  melting 
into  a  soft  light. 

"Yes,  I  know,  marriage  is  an  ideal,  the  noblest, 
most  beautiful.  We  have  not  yet  attained  its 
purity  in  life.  Man  is  only  struggling  toward  its 
perfection.  We  will  not  attain  it  by  lowering  the 
ideal,  but  by  lifting  up  those  who  are  struggling 
toward  it.  Another  marriage  while  Frank  lives 
would  be  possible  for  me  only  when  I  ceased  to  feel 
the  meaning  of  sin  and  shame.  I  will  never  regret 
my  life.  I  have  cast  all  bitterness  out  of  my  heart. 
Better  the  happiness  and  pain  of  a  glorious  love 
than  never  to  have  known  its  joy.  I  have 
lived." 

"And  I  will  yet  teach  you  to  live  more  deeply," 
he  firmly  said. 


An  Old  Sweetheart  219 

She  shook  her  head  and  looked  at  him  sadly  out 
of  her  dark  eyes  from  which  the  storm  had  cleared 
at  last.  They  beamed  now  with  the  steady  light 
of  a  deep  spiritual  tenderness. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FREEDOM  AND  FELLOWSHIP 

THE  six  months  abroad  which  Gordon  and  Kate 
had  spent  in  love's  dreaming  and  drifting  had  been 
the  fulfilment  to  the  man  of  the  long-felt  yearnings 
of  his  fierce  subconscious  nature. 

To  the  woman  it  had  been  the  revelation  of  a 
new  heaven  and  a  new  earth.  She  had  found 
herself,  the  real  self,  at  whose  first  meeting  in  the 
kiss  of  a  man  she  had  trembled.  She  was  no  longer 
afraid.  The  elemental  clear-eyed  goddess  had  taken 
possession.  She  had  claimed  her  own,  the  throne 
of  a  queen,  and  the  man  who  had  dreamed  of  king 
ship  was  her  courtier. 

She  was  smiling  at  him  in  conscious  power,  her 
violet  eyes  flashing  with  mystery  and  magic,  the 
sunlight  of  Italy  gleaming  through  her  dark  red 
hair,  her  full  lips  half  parted  with  dreamy  tender 
ness,  and  her  sinuous  body  moving  with  indolent 
grace. 

"To  be  your  slave  is  crown  enough  for  man,"  he 
cried. 

"And  I  am  in  heaven,"  she  answered,  proudly. 

"Only,  thus,  in  perfect  freedom,"  he  said,  in 
rapture,  "is  the  fulness  of  life.  Beauty  and  harmony 

220 


Freedom  and  Fellowship  221 

and  love  are  of  God.  Surely  this  is  communion 
with  Him — the  joy  of  embraces,  the  touch  of  sun 
light,  the  glory  of  form  and  colour,  the  magic  of 
music,  the  poetry  of  love,  the  ecstacy  of  passion, 
the  kiss  of  the  senses — He  is  in  all  and  over  all." 

"Can  such  happiness  be  eternal?"  she  asked, 
under  her  breath. 

He  kissed  her  softly. 

"If  God  be  infinite." 

They  reached  New  York  the  first  week  in  Novem 
ber,  and  Gordon  returned  to  his  work  with  renewed 
zeal.  , 

The  success  of  his  movement  was  a  source  of 
continued  surprise  and  fear  to  the  more  thoughtful 
students  of  social  and  religious  life. 

But  Gordon  had  found  on  his  return  an  increasing 
amount  of  friction  between  opposing  groups  in  his 
church  which  was  a  source  of  intense  surprise  and 
annoyance.  Two  factions  had  broken  into  an  open 
quarrel  in  his  absence.  He  found  it  necessary  to 
devote  a  large  part  of  his  time  to  smoothing  out  these 
quarrels  between  men  who  had  come  together  with 
the  principles  of  unity  and  fellowship  as  the  founda 
tion  of  their  association.  He  saw  with  disgust  that 
he  was  gathering  a  crowd  of  cranks,  conceited  and 
stupid,  vain  and  ambitious  for  fame  and  leadership. 
It  was  all  he  could  do  to  prevent  a  battle  of  Kilkenny 
cats. 

He  discovered  that  many  things  glittered  at  a 


222  The  One  Woman 

banquet  to  celebrate  universal  brotherhood  which 
did  not  pan  out  pure  gold  in  the  experiment  of  life. 
He  had  heard  at  such  a  love  feast  an  aristocratic 
poet  extoll  in  harangue  the  unwashed  Democracy, 
a  Walking  Delegate  read  a  poem,  a  Jew  quote  the 
Koran  with  unction,  a  Mohammedan  eulogise 
Monogamy,  a  Single-Taxer  declare  himself  a  Demo 
crat,  a  Socialist  glorify  Individualism,  and  an 
Anarchist  express  his  love  for  Order. 

But  he  found  next  day  that  as  a  rule  the  Egyptian 
resumed  the  use  of  garlic  and  the  hog  went  back  to 
his  wallow. 

He  found  to  his  chagrin  that  mental  freedom 
could  be  made  a  cloak  for  the  basest  mental  slavery, 
and  that  the  most  hide-bound  dogmatist  on  earth  is 
the  modern  crank  who  boasts  his  freedom  from  all 
dogmas.  He  found  the  Liberal  to  be  the  most 
illiberal  and  narrow  man  he  had  ever  met. 

The  absurdity  of  allowing  this  mob  of  Kil 
kenny  cats  any  authority  in  his  church  he  saw 
at  once.  His  dream  of  triumphant  Democracy 
faded. 

He  seized  the  helm  at  once. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  threw  out 
twenty  ringleaders  of  as  many  factions  and  restored 
order.  Under  such  conditions  he  dared  not  even 
incorporate  his  society  under  the  laws  of  the  state 
as  a  religious  body  lest  these  incongruous  elements 
control  its  property  and  wreck  its  work.  He  con 
tinued  to  expend  the  vast  funds  needed  for  his 


Freedom  and  Fellowship  223 

Temple  in  his  wife's  name,  leaving  its  legal  owner 
ship  vested  in  her  as  before. 

Within  a  few  months  the  extraordinary  beauty 
and  vivacity  of  his  wife  made  their  house  on 
Gramercy  Park  the  rendezvous  of  a  brilliant  group 
of  free-lances  and  Bohemians.  Her  mother  and 
father  had  moved  to  a  house  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  park.  Men  and  women  of  genius  in  the  world 
of  Art  and  Letters  who  cared  nought  for  conventions 
had  crowded  her  receptions.  She  was  flattered  with 
the  pleasant  fiction  that  she  had  restored  the  ancient 
Salon  of  France  on  a  nobler  basis. 

The  increase  of  her  social  duties  required  more 
and  more  of  her  time  at  the  dressmaker's,  and  left 
less  and  less  for  work  in  Gordon's  congregation. 

At  first  he  had  watched  this  social  success  with 
surprise  and  pride,  and  then  with  an  increasing  sense 
of  uneasiness  for  its  significance  in  the  development 
of  her  character. 

The  sight  of  half  a  dozen  handsome  men  bending 
over  her,  enchanted  by  her  beauty,  and  the  ring  of 
her  laughter  at  their  wit,  irritated  him.  He  had  not 
been  actor  enough  to  conceal  from  her  the  gleam  of 
worry  in  his  eyes  and  the  accent  of  fret  in  his  voice  at 
these  functions.  She  observed,  too,  that  he  attended 
them  with  regularity,  however  important  might  be 
the  work  which  called  him  outside. 

He  was  anxious  for  her  to  cultivate  a  few  of  his 
intimate  friends,  but  this  crowd  of  strange  men  and 
women  bored  him. 


224  The  One  Woman 

He  was  especially  anxious  that  she  should  meet 
Overman,  and  by  her  magnetism  and  beauty  crush 
him  into  the  acknowledgment  of  the  sanity  and 
right  of  his  course. 

But  Overman  had  promised  without  coming. 

Gordon  was  at  his  bank  on  Wall  Street  again 
urging  him  to  call. 

"  It's  no  use  to  talk,  Frank, "  he  said,  testily.  "All 
I  ask  of  women  is  to  be  let  alone. " 

"  But,  you  fool,  I  want  you  to  meet  my  wife.  She's 
not  a  woman  merely.  She's  the  wife  of  an  old  college 
chum,  the  better  half  by  far. " 

Overman  pulled  his  moustache,  a  humorous 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Well,  how  many  halves  are  there  to  you?  I've 
met  the  other  half  once  before.  This  makes  one  and 
a  half, "  he  said,  peering  at  his  friend  with  his  single 
eye. 

Gordon  laughed. 

"Yes,  I  am  large." 

"I've  my  doubts  whether  you're  quite  large 
enough  for  the  job  you've  undertaken. " 

"  You're  a  pessimist.  " 

Overman's  face  brightened  and  his  mouth  twisted. 

"  Yes,  the  more  I  see  of  men,  the  more  stock  I  take 
in  chickens.  I've  a  rooster  at  home  now  that  can 
whip  anything  that  ever  wore  feathers,  and  he's  so 
ugly  I  love  him  like  a  brother.  " 

"Shut  up  about  roosters,"  Gordon  growled. 
"  Will  you  come  to  see  me  and  meet  my  wife  ? " 


Freedom  and  Fellowship  225 

Overman  turned  his  eye  on  his  friend,  frowning. 

"  Frank,  I'm  afraid  of  the  atmosphere.  There's 
enough  dynamite  in  'Freedom  and  Fellowship'  to 
blow  up  several  houses.  I  don't  like  to  get  mixed 
up  with  women  in  any  sort  of  fellowship — to  say 
nothing  about  freedom  and  fellowship." 

"  Well,  I've  asked  my  wife  to  call  by  the  bank  here 
for  me  to-day  and  I'm  going  to  introduce  you. " 

Overman  did  not  hear  this  statement,  for  his  head 
was  turned  to  one  side  and  he  was  peering  out  of  his 
window  on  Broad  Street  with  excited  interest. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  suddenly  exclaiming : 

"Well,  what  the  devil  is  the  matter?" 

"What  is  it?"  Gordon  asked,  stepping  to  the 
window. 

It  had  begun  to  snow  on  an  inch  of  ice  which  was 
still  -clinging  to  the  stone  pavements.  At  the 
corner  of  Broad  and  Wall  Streets  the  ground  dips 
sharply,  forming  a  difficult  crossing. 

Gordon  saw  his  wife  approaching  the  bank,  laugh 
ing.  She  was  dressed  in  a  sealskin  cloak  which 
reached  to  the  ground.  Its  great  rolling  collar  of 
ermine  covered  her  full  breast  and  stretched  upward 
almost  to  her  hat,  rearing  its  snowy  background 
about  her  heavy  auburn  hair,  which  seemed  about 
to  fall  and  envelop  her  form.  She  wore  an  enor 
mous  hat  of  white  fur  bent  in  graceful  curves. 

She  was  close  to  the  building  now,  and  her  blue 
eyes  were  dancing  and  her  cheeks  flushed  with 
laughter.  The  perfect  grace  and  rhythm  of  her 


226  The  One  Woman 

movement  could  be  seen  even  through  the  heavy 
seal  cloak,  whose  sheen  changed  with  each  touch 
of  her  figure. 

"Look  at  the  idiots!"  cried  Overman,  excitedly. 
"So  busy  stretching  their  necks  to  see  a  woman, 
there's  five  piled  up  on  the  ice.  They're  ringing  for 
the  ambulance.  She's  fractured  one  man's  skull, 
broken  another's  leg,  and,  by  the  pale-faced  moon,  I 
believe  she's  killed  one.  And  you're  after  me  to 
meet  another  woman — great  Scott,  look,  she's 
coming  in  here  ! ' ' 

"Well,  she  won't  hurt  you." 

"I  don't  know!" 

Overman  made  a  break  to  reach  his  inner  office 
when  Gordon  seized  his  arm. 

"Stop,  you  fool,"  he  thundered;  "it's  my  wife. 
She's  calling  by  for  me,  and  you're  going  to  meet 
her,  if  I  have  to  knock  you  down  and  sit  on  you. " 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  He  heard  the  rustle  of 
the  silk  lining  of  her  cloak  and  she  was  at  the  door. 

She  shook  Overman's  hand  heartily,  her  violet 
eyes  smiling  in  such  a  friendly  candid  way  he  was  at 
once  put  at  ease. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  earnestly. 
"I've  heard  Frank  speak  of  you  so  often  and  laugh 
over  your  college  ups  and  downs.  I  feel  I've  known 
you  all  my  life.  And  then  he  says  you're  such  a 
woman-hater — 

"He's  a  grand  liar,  Mrs.  Gordon,"  he  interrupted, 
suddenly  colouring.  "I  never  said  anything  of 


Freedom  and  Fellowship  227 

the  kind  in  my  life.  I'm  a  great  admirer  of  the 
fair  sex !" 

"Then  you  must  prove  it  by  coming  to  dinner 
with  us  to-night  and  admiring  me  the  whole 
evening." 

" Nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  he 
answered,  bowing  his  big  neck  with  an  ease  and 
grace  Gordon  noted  with  amazement. 

When  they  left,  Overman  walked  to  the  window 
and  watched  them  thread  their  way  through  the 
crowd. 

"Holy  Moses  and  the  angels — what  a  woman!" 
he  said,  softly  whistling.  "  By  the  beard  of  the 
prophet,  no  wonder!" 

Long  after  they  disappeared  he  stood,  looking 
without  seeing,  as  if  in  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  SCARLET  FLAME  IN  THE  SKY 

FROM  the  night  Overman  had  taken  dinner  at  the 
Gramercy  Park  house  he  became  a  constant  visitor. 

For  six  months  he  had  usually  spent  two  or  three 
evenings  each  week  in  his  friend's  library,  rehearsing 
their  boyhood  days,  discussing  new  books,  art  and 
politics,  Socialism  and  religion. 

Overman's  cynicism  had  piqued  Kate's  curiosity 
and  opened  new  views  of  things  she  had  accepted  as 
moral  finalities. 

At  these  battles  of  wit  she  was  always  a  charmed 
listener.  She  seemed  never  to  tire  watching  the 
sparks  fly  in  the  rapier  thrust  of  mind  in  these  two 
men  of  steel  and  listening  with  a  shiver  to  the  deep 
growl  of  the  animal  behind  their  words.  The  one, 
so  homely  he  was  fascinating,  with  massive  neck, 
and  enormous  mouth  pursing  and  twisting  under 
excitement  into  a  sneer  that  pushed  his  big  nose 
upward,  the  incarnation  of  a  battle-scarred  "bulldog ; 
the  other,  with  his  giant  figure,  hands  and  feet,  his 
leonine  face  and  locks,  his  deep  voice,  handsome  and 
insolent  in  his  conscious  strength,  the  picture  of  a 
thoroughbred  mastiff. 

With  the  grace  of  a  goddess  she  would  sit  and 
228 


A  Scarlet  Flame  in  the  Sky  229 

watch  this  battle  to  the  death  in  the  arena  of 
thought. 

Overman  had  keenly  interested  her  from  the -first, 
and  she  stimulated  him  to  unusual  brilliancy.  His 
remorseless  logic,  his  thorough  scholarship,  his  grasp 
of  history,  his  savage  common  sense  presented  so 
sharp  a  contrast  to  the  idealism  of  Gordon,  she  was 
shocked  and  startled. 

He  fell  into  the  habit  of  calling  on  Sunday  morn 
ings  and  walking  with  them  to  the  Opera  House. 
They  would  leave  Gordon  at  the  stage  entrance  and 
sit  together  during  the  services. 

He  would  comment  softly  to  her  on  many  of  the 
little  absurdities  of  the  preacher's  flights  of  senti 
ment,  and  often  convulsed  her  with  laughter  by  a 
single  word  or  phrase  which  made  ridiculous  his 
mysticism.  He  did  this  with  his  single  eye  fixed  on 
Gordon  without  the  quiver  of  a  nerve  or  the  move 
ment  of  a  muscle  to  indicate  ought  but  profound 
rapture  in  the  speaker  and  his  message. 

Overman's  business  ability  had  been  of  great 
service  in  the  Temple  enterprise,  which  had  involved 
difficulties  with  contractors,  and  Gordon  had  opened 
an  account  in  Kate's  name  with  his  banking  house. 
Her  signature  to  legal  documents  had  made  her  a 
frequent  visitor  to  the  bank,  and  she  often  took 
lunch  with  him. 

Alone  with  her  at  these  impromptu  lunches, 
without  the  restraint  of  Gordon's  presence,  he  had 
revealed  to  her  a  new  phase  of  his  character  which 


230  The  One  Woman 

had  interested  her  still  more  deeply.  It  was  here 
that  she  discovered  the  secret  of  his  real  attitude 
toward  women,  his  deep  hunger  for  love,  tenderness 
and  sympathy,  and  his  terror  lest  his  ugliness  and 
the  loss  of  his  eye  might  entrap  him  into  hopeless 
suffering. 

She  laughed  at  his  fears. 

"Ridiculous,"  she  cried,  closing  her  red  lips. 
"You  ought  to  have  sense  enough  to  know  that  a 
woman  of  character  past  the  schoolgirl  age  is  often 
fascinated  by  the  ruggedness  of  such  a  man.  Savage 
strength  is  sometimes  resistless  to  women  of  rare 
beauty." 

"You  think  so  ?"  he  asked,  pathetically. 

"Certainly;  I  know  it,"  she  answered,  her  lips 
twitching  playfully. 

Overman  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"Sort  of  beauty-and -beast  idea,  I  suppose.  There 
may  be  something  in  it.  It  never  struck  me  before. " 

"I'll  put  you  in  training  for  a  handsome  woman  I 
know,"  she  said,  with  a  curious  smile  playing  about 
her  eyes. 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  quickly  replied.  "I'm  just 
beginning  to  feel  at  home  with  you.  I  am  content." 

The  opening  of  the  Temple  was  an  event  which 
commanded  the  attention  of  the  world.  Leaders 
of  Socialism  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe  poured 
into  New  York. 

The    building  was   one   of    imposing    grandeur. 


A  Scarlet  Flame  in  the  Sky  231 

The  auditorium  filled  the  entire  space  of  the  first 
four  stories.  It  seated  five  thousand  people  within 
easy  reach  of  the  speaker's  voice.  The  line  of  its 
ceiling  was  marked  outside  by  the  serried  capitals  of 
Greek  columns  springing  from  their  massive  bases 
on  the  ground.  The  grand  stairway  was  of  polished 
marble,  its  wainscoting  and  walls  of  onyx. 

Resting  on  the  capitals  of  the  columns,  the  outer 
walls  of  rough  marble  rose  twenty  stories  to  the 
first  offset.  Dropping  back  fifty  feet,  another 
structure,  crowned  by  Greek  facades,  sprang  ten 
stories  higher,  forming  the  base  of  the  central 
dome.  From  each  corner  rose  a  tower  of  bronze 
supporting  the  figures  of  Faith,  Hope,  Love  and 
Truth,  while  scores  of  minarets  flamed  upward, 
flying  the  flags  of  every  nation. 

From  the  centre  of  this  pile  of  marble,  the  huge 
dome,  finished  in  gold,  solemnly  loomed  among 
the  clouds,  higher  than  its  model  in  Washington, 
dominating  the  city  from  every  point  of  the  com 
pass.  The  magnificent  sweep  of  Jefferson  Avenue, 
stretching  through  miles  of  palatial  homes, 
terminating  at  its  base,  seemed  a  tiny  pathway 
leading  through  its  grand  arched  and  pillared 
entrance. 

The  dome  was  crowned  by  a  statue  of  Liberty 
holding  aloft  a  steel  staff,  from  which  flew  the  solid 
red  battle-flag  of  Socialism,  flinging  into  the  heavens 
its  challenge  to  civilisation,  rising,  falling,  waving, 
fluttering,  quivering,  rippling  in  the  wind,  a  scarlet 


232  The  One  Woman 

blaze  sweeping  a  hundred  feet  across  the  sky  far 
above  the  cross  on  the  Cathedral  spire. 

The  cost  of  the  building  had  exceeded  the  estimate, 
and  it  had  been  finished  by  a  loan  of  two  million 
dollars  secured  by  a  mortgage  held  by  the  banking 
house  of  Overman  &  Company.  It  could  have 
commanded  a  larger  loan,  as  the  entire  structure, 
except  the  two  stories  below  ground  and  the  audi 
torium,  was  devoted  to  business  offices  occupied 
by  the  best  class  of  tenants.  The  auditorium  was 
for  rent  at  a  nominal  sum  during  the  week,  and  was 
designed  to  be  the  forum  of  free  thought  for  the 
nation. 

The  dedication  programme  began  on  Monday, 
lasting  through  an  entire  week,  day  and  night,  and 
culminated  on  Sunday  with  Gordon's  address  at 
eleven  o'clock.  The  elaborate  ceremonials  and 
speeches  had  worn  out  Kate's  body  by  Saturday, 
and  the  praise  of  pygmies  had  long  before  worn 
out  her  soul. 

Ruth  had  read  with  interest  the  accounts  of 
these  meetings,  and  Morris  King  tried  in  vain  to 
dissuade  her  from  attending  the  Sunday  exercises 
at  which  Gordon  was  to  speak. 

"It's  useless  to  talk,  Morris,"  she  said,  firmly. 
"I  am  going.  I'd  as  well  tell  you  I've  been  slipping 
into  the  gallery  of  the  Opera  House  the  past  six 
months.  I've  tried  to  keep  away — but  I  had 
to  go.  I  am  going  to-day.  I've  heard  him  talk 


A  Scarlet  Flame  in  the  Sky  233 

and  dream  and  plan  so  much  of  this,  it  seems 
my  own." 

"Well,  I'm  going  with  you.  You  shall  not  enter 
that  den  of  Anarchists  alone  again." 

She  hesitated. 

"You  may  go  if  you'll  agree  to  sit  behind  a  pillar 
in  the  gallery  where  we  will  not  be  seen." 

When  they  were  seated  he  whispered  to  Ruth : 
"But  for  you,  I  wouldn't  be  caught  dead  in  this 
place.  I'll  soon  be  the  Governor,  and  it  will  be  my 
duty  to  see  that  some  of  these  gentlemen  are  care 
fully  packed  in  quicklime  at  Sing  Sing." 

She  started  suddenly,  her  brow  clouded,  and  she 
placed  a  trembling  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Hush,  Morris." 

"It'll  be  so,  mark  my  word." 

"Hush  !"  she  repeated,  with  such  a  shudder  of 
pain  he  hastened  to  whisper. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Ruth.  You  know  I  was 
joking." 

Gordon  rose  and  gazed  for  a  moment  over  the 
sea  of  faces.  His  quick  sympathies  and  brilliant 
imagination  were  stirred  to  their  depths. 

When  the  beautifully  modulated  voice  first  filled 
the  room,  Ruth  felt  with  quick  sympathy,  beneath 
the  tremor  of  his  tones,  the  storm  of  suppressed 
feeling.  Her  eyes  filled,  and  she  bent  forward, 
following  him  breathlessly. 

He  held  the  crowd  spellbound. 

Even  the  foreign  Socialists,  unable  to  understand 


234  The  One  Woman 

a  word  of  English,  hung  on  every  gesture,  held  by 
the  magnetism  of  his  powerful  personality. 

As  he  reached  an  impassioned  climax,  Ruth  was 
startled  to  hear  a  note  of  suppressed  laughter  from 
a  woman  sitting  in  the  same  row  behind  the  next 
pillar. 

She  looked  quickly,  and  saw  Overman's  massive 
head  cocked  to  one  side,  his  face  an  immovable 
mask,  and  his  single  gleaming  eye  fixed  on  Gordon, 
with  Kate  beside  him. 

Overman  stayed  to  dinner  and  congratulated  his 
friend  on  his  effort. 

"Frank,  you  surpassed  yourself,"  he  said.  "You 
made  the  grandest  defense  of  an  indefensible 
absurdity  I  ever  heard." 

"H'm,  that's  saying  a  good  deal  for  you." 

Overman  pulled  his  moustache  thoughtfully. 

"But  I  couldn't  help  wishing  I  were  an  orator  to 
jaw  back  at  you.  A  preacher  has  such  an  easy 
thing,  with  no  back  talk  except  the  sonorous  echo 
of  his  own  voice." 

"Think  you  could  have  talked  back  to-day?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Overman  leaned 
back  and  locked  his  hands  behind  his  massive  neck. 

"If  you  hit  a  man  with  a  brick,  he  may  hurt  you. 
Drop  a  millstone  on  him,  he'll  not  even  reply.  If 
I  could  have  gotten  at  you  to-day  your  wife  would 
have  lost  her  insurance  policy,  because  there 
wouldn't  have  been  anything  to  identify." 


A  Scarlet  Flame  in  the  Sky  235 

"Nothing  like  a  good  opinion  of  oneself,"  Gordon 
replied,  good-naturedly. 

Overman  nodded. 

"I  never  heard  you  explain  so  beautifully  that 
'Back  to  Nature'  idea.  I  went  West  once  and  lived 
a  year  with  some  red  folks  who  have  been  so  fortu 
nate  as  to  never  get  away  from  Nature.  They  have 
been  doing  business  at  the  same  stand  for  several 
thousand  years.  Their  women  are  old  hags  at  your 
wife's  age,  and  their  men  die  at  mine — forty-five. 
Their  social  institutions  are  an  exact  reflection  of 
their  personal  attainments." 

"But  we  propose,"  Gordon  flashed,  "to  make 
institutions  an  advance  on  man's  attainments  and 
so  lead  him  onward  and  upward." 

"Exactly,"  he  answered,  dryly.  "Make  human 
nature  divine  by  writing  it  on  paper  that  it  is  so, 
pile  water  into  a  pyramid  upside  down,  and  repeal 
the  law  of  gravitation  by  the  vote  of  a  mob. 
I  don't  like  the  law  of  gravitation  myself,  but  I 
haven't  time  to  repeal  it." 

"You  are  a  hopeless  materialist." 

"Yet  you,  who  preach  the  Spirit,  propose  to  build 
a  heaven  here  out  of  mud." 

"Socialism  may  be  the  great  delusion,  but  it's 
coming.  It  sweeps  the  imagination  of  the  world," 
Gordon  cried,  with  enthusiasm. 

"There  you  go  !  Every  time  I  pin  you  down,  you 
sail  off  into  space  with  prophecy  or  poetry.  If  it 
does  conquer  the  world,  the  world  will  not  be  worth 


236  The  One  Woman 

conquering.  The  one  thing  worth  while  is  character, 
and  your  Socialistic  pig-pen  cannot  produce  it.  In 
this  herd  of  swine  to  which  you  hope  to  reduce 
society  an  Edison  or  a  Darwin  is  rewarded  with  the 
pay  of  a  hod-carrier.  The  hod-carrier  gets  all  he's 
worth  now.  This  instinct  for  the  herd,  which  you 
call  Solidarity  and  Brotherhood,  is  not  a  prophecy 
of  progress ;  it  is  a  memory — a  memory  of  the  dirt 
out  of  which  humanity  has  slowly  grown." 

Gordon  grunted  contemptuously. 

"Yet  only  a  brute  can  be  content  with  the  cruelty 
and  infamy  of  our  present  society." 

"All  our  ills  can  be  met  by  careful  legislation. 
You  propose  to  pull  the  tree  up  by  the  roots  because 
you  see  bugs  crawling  on  a  limb." 

Kate  rose  and  left  the  room,  saying  she  would 
return  in  a  moment,  and  Overman  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  again,  gazing  at  the  ceiling. 

Suddenly  straightening  himself,  he  drew  his  brow 
down  close  over  his  eye,  half  closing  its  lid,  bent 
toward  Gordon,  and  in  a  low  tone  slowly  asked : 

"But  I  would  like  to  know,  Frank,  what  in  the 
devil  you  really  meant  by  that '  Freedom  and  Fellow 
ship'  in  marriage?" 

"Just  what  I  said." 

"Bah  !  You  don't  mean  to  apply  such  tommyrot 
to  your  own  wife  now  that  she's  yours  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"It's  beyond  belief  that  you're  such  a  fool.  You 
say  to  your  wife  and  to  the  world,  'This  peerless 


A  Scarlet  Flame  in  the  Sky  237 

woman  is  my  comrade,  but  she  is  free;  take  her  if 
you  can." 

Gordon  laughed. 

"Yes;  but,  Mark,  old  boy,  God  has  not  yet  made 
the  man  who  can  take  her  from  me." 

The  one  eye  dreamily  closed,  the  banker  whistled 
softly,  and  said: 

"I  see." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE    NEW    HEAVEN 

OVERMAN  had  appeared  on  the  scene  of  Kate's 
life  in  a  peculiar  crisis.  Married  two  years,  she  had 
passed  through  the  period  of  love's  ecstacy  which 
woman  finds  first  in  self -surrender.  She  had  just 
reached  the  point  of  sex  growth  when  a  revolt 
against  man's  dominion  became  inevitable. 

This  mood  of  revolt  was  made  stronger  by  Gordon's 
fret  over  her  social  gatherings.  In  the  dim  light  of 
the  pulpit,  preaching  with  mystic  elation,  he  had 
seemed  to  her  a  god.  Now,  in  the  full  blaze  of 
physical  possession,  the  divine  glow  had  paled 
about  his  brow.  She  had  found  him  only  a  man, 
self-conscious,  egotistic  and  domineering.  He  had 
many  personal  habits  she  did  not  like.  He  was 
overfastidious  in  his  dress,  and  critical  and  fussy 
about  her  lack  of  order  in  housekeeping.  He  was 
finicky  about  his  food.  He  hated  tea,  declaring 
the  odour  made  him  sick.  She  felt  this  a  covert 
thrust  at  her  five-o' clocks. 

To  his  criticisms  she  at  last  coolly  replied : 

"I  claim  the  perfect  freedom  you  preach.  I  will 
do  as  I  please.  You  can  do  the  same." 

He  laughed  in  a  weak  sort  of  way  and  declared 
he  liked  her  independence. 

238 


The  New  Heaven  239 

At  this  moment  of  reaction,  satiety  and  the 
beginning  of  friction  he  had  introduced  her  to 
Overman.  His  candour,  his  brutal  realism,  his 
defiance  and  scorn  for  poetic  theories,  presented  to 
her  the  sharp  contrast  which  made  him  doubly 
fascinating.  Just  at  the  moment  Gordon  was 
growing  peevishly  dogmatic  in  the  reiteration  of 
his  ideals  she  had  suffered  a  physical  disillusioning 
and  begun  to  tire  of  poetry. 

The  sheer  brute  power  of  the  other  man,  the  incar 
nation  of  the  thing  that  is,  with  a  cynic's  contempt 
for  dreams  and  dreamers,  had  given  voice  to  her 
own  rebellion  and  drawn  her  resist lessly. 

The  boyish  tenderness  underlying  Overman's 
nature,  which  she  discovered  later,  had  made  his 
ugliness  and  brute  strength  added  charms. 

He  had  a  pathetic  way  of  looking  at  her  with  a 
doglike  worship,  as  though  conscious  of  his  defects, 
which  pleased  and  flattered  her  own  sense  of  the 
perfection  of  beauty. 

They  were  seated  in  his  box  at  the  Metropolitan 
Opera  House  while  Gordon  was  at  the  farewell 
banquet  to  his  foreign  delegates. 

"I  feel,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "every  time  I  see  this 
play  of  'Faust,'  and  hear  Edouard  De  Reszke's 
deep  bass  speak  for  His  Majesty  the  Devil,  that 
His  Majesty  really  made  this  world.  I'd  know  it 
but  for  the  paradox  of  such  divine  perfection  before 
my  eyes  in  the  living  reality  of  a  woman  like  you." 

His  voice  throbbed  with  earnestness. 


240  The  One  Woman 

"  I'm  growing  to  love  the  world.  It's  a  beautiful 
old  place,"  she  answered,  with  a  lazy  smile. 

1  'Well,  it's  the  only  one  I'm  likely  to  travel  in, 
so  I'm  going  to  make  the  best  of  it,  work  with  its 
mighty  forces,  dare  and  defy  the  fools  who  cross 
my  purposes.  If  the  future  has  for  me  only  pain, 
I'll  not  complain.  I'll  grin  and  bear  it,  but  I'll 
confess  to  you  I  get  a  little  lonely  sometimes." 

Her  eyes  lifted  with  surprise. 

"I  never  heard  you  admit  that  before." 

"No;  and  what's  more,  no  one  else  ever  did  or 
ever  will." 

He  looked  at  her  pathetically,  and  a  deeper 
colour  flooded  her  cheeks. 

When  they  reached  home  Gordon  had  just  returned 
from  the  banquet  and  was  bubbling  over  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Mark,  we  have  had  a  grand  time  to-night — 
organised  a  movement  that  will  put  out  a  sign 
'To  Let'  on  every  den  of  thieves  in  Wall  Street." 

"What?     Founded  another  church  already?" 

"A  new  Brotherhood  within  the  Church  Uni 
versal." 

Overman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Talk  plain  English.  What  will  be  its  name  at 
Police  Headquarters?" 

Gordon  smilingly  and  proudly  replied,  "The 
Federated  Democracy  of  the  World." 

"H'm;  what  are  you  going  to  do?  Federate  the 
hobos  of  all  tongues  and  demand  better  straw  in 


The  New  Heaven  241 

empty  freight  cars  and  shorter  stops  at  sidings  for 
express  trains  to  pass?" 

"  Our  purpose  will  be  to  inaugurate  the  Cooperative 
Commonwealth  of  Man.  The  movement  will  bring 
into  harmonious  action  the  insurgent  forces  of  the 
world.  Within  ten  years  an  earthquake  will  shake 
the  social  fabric.  Within  twenty  years  profound 
political  and  social  revolutions  will  lift  the  human 
race  over  centuries  of  plodding  into  a  new  world  of 
real  liberty,  equality  and  fraternity." 

Overman  growled  cynically. 

''That  has  a  French  accent.  I  hear  there  are 
fifty  thousand  active  Socialists  in  France  divided 
into  exactly  fifty  thousand  factions.  Which  division 
of  this  grand  army  will  lead  the  movement  in  Gaul  ?" 

Gordon  ignored  his  interruption,  and  his  voice 
thrilled  with  passionate  eloquence. 

"We  have  abolished  crowns  and  scepters.  It  is 
a  moral  and  physical  absurdity  that,  in  a  democracy, 
a  whiskered  babe,  whose  labour  value  to  society 
is  just  ten  dollars  a  week,  should  inherit  millions  of 
dollars  that  give  him  the  power  over  men  more 
terrible,  absolute  and  irresponsible  than  a  Caesar 
ever  wielded  over  the  empire  of  the  world.  No 
wonder  our  papers  shiver  when  these  babes  sneeze, 
and  report  their  daily  life  with  servile  pride." 

"And  would  the  oil  of  anointment  of  your  new 
king,  the  walking  delegate,  be  strong  enough  to 
temper  the  onion  in  his  breath?  I'd  like  to  know 
that  before  drawing  too  near  the  throne."  The 


242  The  One  Woman 

banker's  mouth  twisted  into  a  sneer  with  the  last 
word. 

"This  new  Democracy  will  itself  be  the  highest 
nobility,  an  ethical  aristocracy,  and  when  it  comes 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  will  be  at  hand." 

The  one  eye  glanced  quickly  at  the  speaker  and 
blinked. 

"  Let  me  know  before  it  gets  here,"  said  Overman, 
a  reminiscent  look  overspreading  his  rugged  face, 
while  Kate  leaned  closer  with  eager  interest. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I'm  going  somewhere.  When  I  was 
a  boy  I  had  to  go  to  church.  Our  old  preacher 
faithfully  urged  us  for  hours  at  a  time  to  get  ready 
for  heaven,  a  glorious  place  away  up  in  space  where 
all  wore  crowns  and  there  wasn't  a  Democrat  in 
town,  everybody  played  psalms  on  big  gold  harps, 
and  every  day  was  Sunday.  I  early  learned  to 
hate  heaven  and  look  on  hell  as  my  only  home. 
Now  you  come  along,  rub  hell  off  the  map,  and 
threaten  me  with  a  heaven  here  on  earth  worse  than 
the  old  one.  Hell  would  be  a  summer  resort  to 
this  thing  youVe  conjured  up.  If  it  comes,  I'll  get 
off  the  earth." 

"Get  your  flying  machine  ready." 

"Oh,  ten  cents'  worth  of  'rough  on  rats'  will  do 
me." 

Gordon  shook  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"  It's  a  strange  thing  to  me  you  conservatives  are 
blind  to  the  coming  of  this  revolution.  It  will  be 


The  New  Heaven  243 

the  grimmest  joke  Fate  ever  played  on  the  pride 
of  man.  Within  the  generation  now  living  a 
Cooperative  Commonwealth  will  supplant  the  whole 
system  of  slave  wages." 

The  banker  suddenly  straightened  his  massive 
neck  and  his  eye  flashed. 

"You  mean  establish  a  system  of  universal 
slavery.  Suppose  under  your  maudlin  cry  of 
brotherhood  you  set  up  your  fool's  paradise,  where 
would  reside  the  authority  of  your  Commonwealth  ?" 

"  In  the  State,  of  course." 

"And  who  would  be  the  State?  You  talk  about 
the  State  as  though  it  were  some  mysterious  Ark  of 
the  Covenant  of  God,  let  down  out  of  heaven  and 
enshrined  in  capitals  of  marble.  The  State  is 
simply  made  out  of  common  dirt  called^om,  Dick 
and  Harry,  whom  a  lot  of  other  plain  Toms,  Dicks 
and  Harrys  set  up  in  power.  Will  not  your  pig-pen 
you  call  the  Cooperative  Commonwealth  have  men 
in  charge  with  authority  to  call  the  pigs  to  dinner 
and  drive  them  to  the  fields  to  root  ?" 

"Certainly,  there  must  be  authority,"  Gordon 
snapped. 

Overman  mused  a  moment. 

"  Yet  your  patron  saint,  William  Morris,  proclaims 
a  heaven  here  below  without  law,  where  man  kills 
his  fellow  man  and  answers  only  to  his  own  con 
science;  where  we  will  tear  up  the  railroads  and 
walk,  blow  up  our  steamships  and  use  rowboats, 
and  in  our  harvest  fields  the  whetstone  on  the  old 


244  The  One  Woman 

hand-scythe  will  still  the  music  of  the  McCormick 
reaper.  With  his  delicate  tastes  he  fears  the  hoof- 
beat  of  your  herd.  But  you  all  agree  that  to  go 
backward  means  to  go  forward,  and  that  the  way 
to  save  civilisation  is  to  lapse  into  barbarism. 
Whether  you  call  yourselves  Socialist  or  Anarchist — 
that  is,  whether  you  long  for  the  herd  or  the  solitude 
of  the  forest,  you  mean  the  same  thing  and  don't 
know  it,  that  your  mind  has  not  been  able  to  adjust 
itself  to  the  speed  of  modern  progress,  and  has 
broken  down  under  the  strain.  You  preach  '  Fellow 
ship,'  herd -life,  as  the  cure.  You  believe  in  law 
and  authority." 

"Yes,"  Gordon  cried,  with  pride.  "Our  ideal 
is  constructive  in  the  largest  and  noblest  sense." 

"And  if  a  man  can  work  and  will  not  work?" 

"  He  will  be  made  to  work." 

"  Very  well.  Suppose  your  pig  heaven  established 
and  the  herd  duly  penned.  The  Labour  Master  of 
your  local  pen  would  naturally  be  a  man  after  the 
heart  of  the  herd.  He  would  be  a  greasy  Labour 
agitator.  No  other  man  could  be  elected.  Suppose 
he  should  become  interested  in  the  extraordinary 
beauty  of  your  wife.  Suppose  you  were  presumptu 
ous  enough  to  resent  this,  and,  in  revenge  for  your 
insolence,  your  Master  transferred  you,  the  scholar, 
idealist  and  orator,  to  the  task  of  cleaning  the 
spittoons  in  the  City  Hall,  and  ordered  your  wife 
to  scrub  the  floor  of  his  office.  You  both  refuse, 
you  who  walk  with  your  head  among  the  stars. 


The  New  Heaven  245 

What  then?  The  dirty-fingered  one,  your  Labour 
Master,  sends  you  to  prison  for  the  first  offense. 
For  the  second,  you  would  be  stripped,  placed  in 
the  public  stocks  and  flogged,  man  and  woman 
alike  in  this  kingdom  of  equality.  For,  mark  you, 
enforced  labour  is  the  only  possible  foundation  of 
such  a  society." 

Gordon  listened  with  dreamy  disgust. 

"You've  set  up  a  man  of  straw.  In  this  new 
world  each  would  choose  his  work  and  labour  would 
be  a  joy,"  he  answered,  with  lofty  scorn. 

The  banker  chuckled. 

"No  doubt  they  would  all  choose  joyous  jobs. 
But  there  would  be  a  surplus  of  joyous  labourers 
hunting  for  joyful  tasks,  and  a  dearth  of  fools 
looking  for  disagreeable  work.  In  your  pig  paradise 
everything  must  be  fixed.  There  could  be  no 
uncertainty  about  the  future — no  worry,  or  fret, 
or  anxiety — hence  no  hopes  or  fears.  Man  would  be 
guaranteed  food,  clothes,  shelter  and  children,  just 
as  the  chattel  slave.  There  could  be  no  inducement 
to  work  unless  compelled  to,  and  no  man  except 
an  idiot  would  do  a  disagreeable  task  unless  forced 
to  do  it.  You  must  remember  there  could  be  no 
lawyers  or  bankers,  preachers  or  orators.  The  chief 
occupation  of  your  Labour  Master  would  be  the 
assignment  of  people  he  didn't  like  to  the  hard, 
dirty  jobs,  and  the  granting  of  favourite  tasks 
to  such  people  as  made  themselves  agreeable  to 
His  Majesty.  Witness  the  master  of  the  Russian 


246  The  One  Woman 

Commune,  who  is  notoriously  the  lord  of  all  the 
wives  of  the  village." 

Overman  was  still  a  moment,  and  then  growled 
from  the  depths  of  his  being : 

"I  call  this  the  lowest,  the  most  degrading,  the 
most  beastial  nightmare  the  human  mind  ever 
dreamed !" 

Gordon  waved  him  off  with  an  eloquent  gesture. 

"You  have  assumed  that  a  free  commonwealth 
of  godlike  men  and  women  would  choose  their 
worst  units  for  their  leaders." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  snapped.  "I've  sup 
posed  they  would  do  the  inevitable — choose  the 
strongest  man  who  looks  like  the  majority  and 
smells  like  the  majority." 

"A  bad  man  would  be  removed,"  the  dreamer 
quickly  replied. 

"  What  difference  if  your  master  be  changed  by  an 
election  now  and  then  ?  All  the  worse.  If  I  am  to 
be  a  slave,  I  prefer  the  old  chattel  system  with  a 
master  whose  favour  I  could  win  and  hold  for  life  by 
faithful  service.  The  old  slaves  often  loved  their 
masters.  Could  you  love  the  Executive  Officer  of  a 
Bureau  for  the  Enforcement  of  Labour?  Do  con 
victs  become  infatuated  with  their  keepers?  To 
assassinate  such  a  man  would  become  a  positive 
joy.  How  many  years  of  such  life  would  it  take 
to  crush  out  of  the  human  soul  the  last 
spark  of  hope  and  aspiration  and  reduce  man 
to  a  beast?" 


The  New  Heaven  247 

"But  we  affirm  the  inherent  divinity  of  man. 
You  assume  him  to  be  a  child  of  the  devil. " 

There  was  another  silence,  and  then  the  banker's 
brow  wrinkled. 

"  Affirm.  Yes,  you  fellows  are  all  orators.  You 
must  affirm  else  the  crowd  will  leave  you.  You 
never  have  doubts  and  fears.  You  always  know. 
Only  affirm  a  thing  enough  and  never  try  to  prove 
it,  and  thousands  of  fools  will  accept  it  at  last  as  the 
word  of  God.  That  is  the  secret  of  the  power  of  all 
demagogues  and  emotional  orators.  The  slickest 
horse-thief  that  ever  operated  in  the  West  was  a 
revivalist  who  migrated  there  with  a  tent.  While 
he  held  the  crowd  spellbound  with  his  eloquence, 
his  confederates  loosed  the  horses  in  the  woods  and 
got  them  to  a  safe  place.  Oratory  is  one  of  the 
cheapest  tricks  ever  played  on  man,  but  an  everlast 
ingly  effective  one,  because  it  is  based  on  affirmation. 
Any  man  who  is  too  hard-headed  and  honest  to 
affirm  a  thing  he  don't  know  and  can't  know  never 
leads  a  mob.  They  will  only  follow  a  man  who 
speaks  with  the  sublime  authority  of  knowledge  he 
does  not  possess." 

While  Overman  was  talking  Gordon's  brow 
clouded  as  he  watched  Kate's  face  flash  with 
interest  and  a  smile  now  and  then  play  between  her 
eyes  and  lips. 

"We  seem  to  be  developing  another  orator,"  he 
slowly  answered. 

Overman  pursed  his  lips. 


248  The  One  Woman 

"  I  haven't  wasted  so  much  breath  in  a  long  time. 
Your  French  programme  stirred  me.  I  wonder  if 
you  recalled  the  decline  of  the  French  nation  in 
modern  times,  and  its  causes,  in  arranging  for  your 
conquest  of  France?  A  little  while  ago  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  numbered  but  a  few  millions,  and  the 
Latin  ruled  the  world.  Now  the  flag  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  flies  over  one-fourth  the  inhabitants  of  the 
globe,  his  army  can  withstand  the  combined  armies 
of  the  world,  his  navy  rules  the  sea,  and  his  wealth  is 
so  great  he  could  buy  the  entire  possessions  of  the 
rest  of  mankind.  Why?  Because  he  developed 
the  most  powerful  individual  man  in  history,  while 
other  races  have  sought  refuge  in  the  herd  idea  of 
communal  interests.  I  noticed  you  never  preach 
now  from  the  old  text,  t  What  shall  it  profit  a  man 
if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  forfeit  his  life?' 
Why  save  the  world  if  you  destroy  man?" 

But  Gordon  had  ceased  to  listen  to  Overman. 
With  his  great  blue-veined  fist  clenched  on  his  chin 
and  a  new  gleam  of  light  in  his  steel-gray  eyes  he 
was  watching  his  wife's  face. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
COURTIER  AND  QUEEN 

OVERMAN  was  quick  to  detect  the  hostility  of  his 
friend's  unusual  silence,  and  hastily  rose. 

"  Excuse  me,  old  boy, "  he  said,  apologetically,  "  if 
I've  hit  too  hard.  I  think  the  world  of  you  in  spite 
of  your  fool  theories.  You  know  that. " 

" Don't  worry,  Mark,"  he  answered,  carelessly. 
"  I  haven't  been  listening  to  you  at  all.  I've  been 
thinking  of  something  else.  Life's  too  short  to  pay 
any  attention  to  your  big  Philistine  jaw. " 

The  banker  smiled. 

"  Well,  you  have  the  instrument  handy  with  which 
Samson  slew  the  Philistine." 

"Yes,  if  you  would  only  loan  it  to  me.  Good 
night." 

When  he  had  gone,  Kate  leaned  back  on  the 
lounge  and  said  with  evident  amusement: 

"You  forgot  something  in  parting  with  your  old 
schoolmate." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  it  quite  unnecessary  to  tell  him  to 
drop  in  any  time,  unless  you  wish  to  let  the  front 
room." 

A  tremor  of  catlike  fun  slyly  played  about  her 
mouth. 

249 


250  The  One  Woman 

"And  yet  women  have  been  called  fickle.     Mr. 
Overman  was  no  college  chum  of  mine." 

11  No;  but  he  is  evidently  trying  to  make  up  for  it 


now. " 


A  low  musical  laugh  seemed  to  come  from  the 
depth  of  Kate's  spirit. 

"And  I  thought  I  was  pleasing  you  by  neglecting 
my  Bohemians  and  cultivating  your  powerful 
friend." 

"  Still  it  is  not  necessary  to  hang  on  his  words  with 
such  melting  interest, "  he  said,  with  quiet  emphasis. 

She  looked  up  sharply  and  a  gleam  of  cruelty 
flashed  from  her  blue  eyes  and  struck  the  steel-gray 
in  his.  Beneath  the  quiet  words  of  the  man  and 
woman  there  was  raging  the  mortal  struggle  of  will 
and  personality,  the  woman  in  fierce  rebellion,  his 
iron  egotism  demanding  submission. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  she  purred,  softly.  "There  is  to  be 
but  one  man-god,  arrayed  and  beautiful,  if  I  may 
quote  your  formula.  There  may  be  many  women- 
gods  in  paradise.  I  saw  Ruth  in  the  Temple  the  first 
Sunday  you  spoke,  hanging  on  your  words  as  the 
voice  of  the  Lord. " 

Gordon  flushed  and  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"I'd  as  well  be  frank  with  you,  Kate.  Overman 
is  coming  to  this  house  too  often.  I  was  shocked 
beyond  measure  when  I  failed  to  find  you  in  your 
accustomed  seat  on  the  Sunday  of  the  dedication  of 
the  Temple.  I  was  told  you  were  in  the  gallery 
with  him." 


Courtier  and  Queen  251 

She  straightened  herself  up  suddenly. 

"  You  took  the  pains  to  find  that  out  ? " 

"Yes." 

She  fixed  on  him  a  look  of  scorn. 

"And  stooped  to  ask  an  usher  instead  of  asking 
me?  You,  who  boldly  say  to  the  world  that  I  am 
your  free  comrade,  the  mate  and  equal  of  man?" 

''An  odd  way  you  took  to  show  comradeship  in 
such  an  hour,"  he  answered,  doggedly. 

"Am  I  a  slave,  to  sit  in  solemn  rapture  at  your 
feet  and  await  your  nod?" 

"You  seemed  to  eagerly  await  the  nod  of  another 
man  to-night." 

She  laughed. 

"Am  I  not  your  serene-browed  Grecian  goddess 
whose  untamed  eyes  of  primeval  womanhood 
proclaim  the  end  of  slave  marriage?" 

Gorden  winced,  scowled  and  was  silent. 

"I  like  the  beautiful  ceremony  you  invented. 
I've  memorised  every  word  of  it, "  she  said,  teasingly. 

He  sat  for  several  minutes  sullenly  looking  at  her 
with  a  strange  fire  in  his  eyes,  now  and  then  moist 
ening  his  lips  as  though  they  burned. 

At  length  he  said:  "It  will  be  necessary  for  you 
to  go  to  his  office  to-morrow  to  sign  papers  in  the 
transfer  of  the  deed  of  the  Temple  to  me.  The 
lawyers  informed  me  to-day  that  everything  was  in 
readiness  for  your  signature.  After  this  event  there 
will  be  no  business  requiring  your  further  attendance 
at  his  bank." 


252  The  One  Woman 

She  closed  her  eyes  lazily. 

"I  am  not  going  to  sign  any  such  deed,"  came 
the  firm  answer. 

Gordon  turned  pale,  nervously  fumbled  at  his 
watch-chain  and  stammered: 

"Kate,  you  don't  mean  this?" 

"I  do." 

The  man  hesitated,  as  though  stunned. 

"After  your  announcement  to  the  world,  and  all 
that  has  passed  between  us,  would  you  humiliate  me 
by  the  withdrawal  of  your  gift  ? ' ' 

She  lifted  her  beautiful  brows. 

"Humiliate  you?  Surely  I  have  honoured  you 
with  the  richest  gift  woman  can  bestow  on  man, 
myself.  The  ownership  of  property  can  have  no 
meaning  after  this.  I  claim  my  rights  as  your  equal. 
Your  eloquence  and  genius  give  you  power.  This 
money  is  scarcely  its  equivalent.  You  have  your 
Temple,  and .  I  still  have  my  fortune.  Its  invest- 
/v  ment  in  this  building  has  enhanced  its  value.  What 
more  can  you  ask?" 

"The  fulfilment  of  your  word  of  honour  to  the 
cause  of  truth, "  he  firmly  answered. 

She  smiled. 

"Nonsense  !  You  were  my  cause,  my  truth — the 
god  I  worshiped.  I  desired  you.  Now  at  closer 
range  the  aureole  has  slightly  faded,  though 
you  are  as  handsome  as  ever,  Frank,  dear. 
What  is  money  between  us?  We  are  equals. 
/  I  will  take  the  worry  of  financial  details  off 


Courtier  and  Queen  253 

your  shoulders  and  leave  you  free  for  your  inspiring 
work." 

Gordon's  eyes  grew  soft;  he  went  over  to  the 
lounge  on  which  she  was  resting,  sat  down  and 
slipped  his  arm  about  her. 

The  full  lips  smiled  with  conscious  cruelty. 

He  bent  and  kissed  her  passionately. 

"You  are  my  priceless  treasure,  my  dear.  I  am 
honoured  in  your  beauty  and  love.  Money  is 
nothing  to  me,  so  long  as  you  are  mine. " 

She  drew  his  head  down  and  kissed  him  in  a 
sudden  burst  of  intensity. 

"  You  know  I  love  you,  Frank  !" 

"And  we  must  not  quarrel,"  he  said,  wistfully, 
slipping  to  his  knees  with  one  arm  still  encircling  her 
waist.  "You  and  I  have  gone  through  too  much 
for  harsh  words  or  thoughts  to  ever  shadow  our  life. 
But  you  must  give  me  more  of  your  time,  and  other 
men  less.  A  growing  uneasiness  and  the  loss  of  the 
sense  of  finality  in  life  are  robbing  me  of  my  capacity 
for  thought  and  work. ' ' 

"Not  so  bad  as  that  surely,"  she  cried,  with 
teasing  laughter.  ' '  You're  not  afraid  of  losing  me  ?" 

"No;  but  you  will  promise?"  he  asked,  tenderly. 

She  placed  one  of  her  arms  about  his  neck,  a  soft 
warm  hand  under  his  chin,  and,  still  laughing,  slowly 
kissed  him  and  murmured: 

"  I'll  do  just  what  I  please,  and  you  may  do  the 
same." 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  IRONY  OF  FATE 

MORRIS  KING  had  ended  a  brilliant  campaign 
for  the  Governorship  of  New  York  with  victory. 
The  entire  ticket  was  elected  by  large  pluralities. 

The  campaign  had  given  scope  to  his  ability,  and 
he  more  than  fulfilled  the  hopes  of  his  friends. 
From  the  moment  of  his  election  he  became  the 
leader  of  the  party  in  the  nation,  and  began  at  once 
the  work  of  strengthening  his  position  as  a  Presi 
dential  possibility. 

Yet  in  the  din  and  clash  of  this  battle  in  which 
his  personal  fortunes,  his  future  career,  and  perhaps 
the  destiny  of  a  great  national  party  hung,  he  had 
not  forgotten  Ruth. 

He  made  it  a  point  every  day,  wherever  he  was, 
or  whatever  the  task  or  excitement  of  the  hour,  to 
write  her  a  love  letter.  Sometimes  it  was  only  a 
few  lines  hastily  scrawled  while  on  the  train  between 
stations  where  he  addressed  the  crowds  at  each 
stop.  Sometimes  he  sent  a  dainty  box  of  flowers. 

She  never  replied  to  his  letters  or  little  gifts.  But 
it  made  no  difference.  He  kept  steadily  on  the 
course  he  had  mapped  out,  dogged,  purposeful, 
persistent. 

254 


The  Irony  of  Fate  255 

The  night  of  the  election,  when  he  received  the 
first  assurance  of  his  success,  before  he  spoke  to 
any  of  his  lieutenants  or  received  a  single  con 
gratulation,  he  closed  his  door,  locked  it,  and  called 
Ruth  over  his  telephone,  which  he  had  connected 
with  her  house  by  special  secret  arrangement  that 
afternoon. 

He  recognised  her  soft  contralto  voice,  and  his 
hand  trembled  with  the  joy  of  the  triumph  which 
he  felt  brought  him  nearer  to  his  heart's  desire. 

He  was  so  excited  he  could  not  speak  for  a 
moment,  and  again  the  low  soft  voice  called : 

"What  is  it?     Who  is  it?" 

"This  is  Morris,  Ruth.  My  door  is  locked,  and 
this  is  a  private  wire  connected  with  your  house. 
I  am  alone  with  you  and  God.  I  am  the  Governor- 
elect  of  New  York.  I  have  spoken  to  no  one  until 
I  tell  you.  One  word  from  you  I  will  prize  more 
than  all  the  shouts  of  the  world  with  which  the 
streets  will  ring  in  a  moment." 

There  was  a  movement  of  the  phone  at  the  other 
end. 

"With  all  my  heart  I  congratulate  you,  Morris. 
You  are  a  great  man.  I  can  never  tell  you  how 
deeply  I  feel  the  delicate  honour  you  pay  me." 

The  man  sighed  and  his  voice  was  husky  with 
emotion. 

11  Ah  !  Ruth,  if  you  only  meant  that  conventional 
phrase,  'with  all  my  heart,'  I'd  be  the  happiest  man 
in  the  world  to-night.  But  I  must  go ;  the  boys  are 


256  The  One  Woman 

trying  to  beat  the  door  down.  My  success  I  lay  at 
your  feet,  my  love.  When  you  hear  the  shouts  of 
hosts  and  see  the  sky  red  to-night  with  illumina 
tions,  remember  that  it  is  all  for  you.  I  am  yours. 
Good-by." 

She  sat  at  her  window  long  past  the  hour  of 
midnight  and  watched  the  blaze  of  rockets  from 
end  to  end  of  Manhattan,  over  Brooklyn,  and  from 
the  farthest  sand-beaches  of  Coney  Island,  dreaming 
with  open  eyes,  soft  with  tears,  of  the  mystery  of 
love  and  life. 

The  unterrified  Democracy  of  the  great  city  had 
gone  mad  with  joy  over  their  daring  young  leader's 
success.  She  could  hear  the  distant  murmur  of  the 
tumult  of  thousands  of  shouting,  screaming  men 
packed  around  Tammany  Hall,  filling  Fourteenth 
Street  in  solid  mass,  jamming  Union  Square  and 
Madison  Square  and  surging  round  the  Madison 
Square  Garden,  where  a  jollification  meeting  of 
twenty  thousand  cheering  excited  men  was  in 
progress.  It  sounded  like  the  boom  and  roar  of 
some  far-off  sea  breaking  on  the  rocks  and  echoing 
among  the  cliffs.  All  Harlem  was  ablaze  with 
bonfires  now,  and  the  tumult  of  horns  and  shouting 
boys  filled  the  streets  on  Washington  Heights. 

She  sighed  and  rested  her  dimpled  chin  in  her 
hand. 

"Surely,  I  must  be  a  foolish  woman  to  cling  to 
Frank  and  reject  the  glory  and  strength  of  this 
old  sweetheart's  chivalrous  love !  I  cannot  help 


The  Irony  of  Fate  257 

it.  He  is  my  husband.  I  love  him.  Perhaps  he 
may  need  me  some  dark  night  in  life.  Who  knows  ? 
If  he  calls,  I  will  be  ready." 

The  year  had  proved  a  trying  one  to  Ruth.  The 
sensation  of  the  completion  of  the  Temple  and  the 
stir  made  by  its  dedication  had  increased  Gordon's 
fame,  and  the  story  of  her  sorrow  had  been  repeated 
again  and  again.  A  hundred  petty  details,  utterly 
false,  had  been  added  as  the  story  had  passed  from 
paper  to  paper,  until  she  was  afraid  to  look  in  a 
public  print  lest  she  find  her  own  name  staring  her 
in  the  face.  From  the  Socialist  point  of  view  she  was 
attacked  as  a  blatant  scold  who  had  made  her 
husband's  life  intolerable,  until  he  had  been  rescued 
by  the  beautiful  woman  who  was  now  his  wife. 
By  the  conservative  press  she  was  timidly  defended, 
damned  by  faint  praise  and  humiliated  by  pity. 

The  children,  growing  rapidly,  were  beginning 
to  feel  the  mother's  position.  In  the  public  schools, 
the  story  of  her  life  and  desertion  by  her  husband 
had  tipped  the  tongues  of  the  spiteful  with  poison, 
and  Lucy  had  come  home  more  than  once  trying  to 
conceal  from  her  mother  the  hurt  of  her  sensitive 
child's  soul. 

Morris  King,  now  the  distinguished  Governor- 
elect,  hastened  to  press  his  suit. 

Her  faithful  knight,  he  was  now  laying  lovingly 
at  her  feet  the  tribute  of  a  powerful  man's  life. 

To  every  worldly  view  of  her  position  and  future 
his  suit  was  a  temptation  well  nigh  resistless.  His 


258  The  One  Woman 

love  had  stood  the  test  of  years.  He  would  worship 
her  as  his  wife  as  he  had  worshiped  her  as  his  ideal. 
She  knew  this  by  an  intuition  as  unerring  as  that 
by  which  she  knew  she  could  never  love  him  as  she 
loved  Gordon.  And  yet  she  felt  a  singular  depend 
ence  on  him,  and  a  tender  gratitude  for  the  pro 
tection  he  had  given  her  life. 

He  knew  his  position  was  strong,  and  pressed  it 
with  quiet  intensity.  He  was  careful  that  his 
attentions  should  not  become  the  subject  of  public 
comment,  and  the  tongue  of  gossip  cause  her  pain. 
Not  for  one  moment  did  he  doubt  that  he  would 
win. 

The  Sunday  before  his  inauguration  he  spent  with 
her,  and,  much  to  his  disgust,  she  insisted  on  going 
to  the  Pilgrim  Church. 

"Of  all  churches,  Ruth,  for  heaven's  sake  don't 
go  there,"  he  pleaded,  with  impatience. 

"Yes,"  she  quietly  answered.  "I've  tried  the 
others.  I  don't  seem  at  home.  I've  ceased  to 
mind  what  any  one  there  thinks.  The  congregation 
has  changed  completely  in  the  past  two  years, 
Deacon  Van  Meter  tells  me.  He  called  to  see  us 
the  other  day  to  ask  after  the  children  and  my 
financial  welfare,  offering  to  help  me  in  any  way 
his  experience  could  serve  me.  He  has  aged  very 
much  lately,  and  the  death  of  his  wife  seems  to 
have  completely  broken  the  old  man's  heart.  He 
has  withdrawn  from  business  entirely.  My  sorrow 
seems  to  have  touched  him  in  a  very  tender  spot. 


The  Irony  of  Fate  259 

He  begged  me  in  such  an  earnest  way  to  come  back 
to  the  church  and  join  in  its  work,  I've  made  up 
my  mind  to  go." 

King  rubbed  his  hand  over  his  head  hope 
lessly. 

"Well,  if  you've  made  up  your  mind,  you  will  go. 
Ruth,  you  are  the  hardest-headed  woman  to  have 
such  a  beautiful  spirit  I  ever  knew." 

The  dark  eyes  smiled  into  his  face. 

"You  may  go  with  me,  Morris." 

He  took  up  his  cane  and  coat. 

"I'll  grudge  the  minutes  I  can't  talk,  but  I'll 
sit  and  look  at  you.  You  are  growing  more  beautiful 
every  day,  Ruth.  I  am  grateful  for  the  honour 
you  are  going  to  do  me  in  attending  the  inauguration. 
I'll  agree  to  anything  you  say  to-day. " 

They  slipped  into  a  seat  under  the  gallery  unob 
served.  The  new  usher  did  not  recognise  either 
Ruth  or  her  distinguished  escort. 

The  services  moved  her  with  a  strange  power.  In 
every  hymn  she  heard  the  deep  rich  voice  of  Gordon 
as  she  had  seen  him  so  often  stand  in  that  pulpit. 
The  swell  of  the  organ's  full  notes  throbbed  with 
his  memory.  The  man  she  heard  was  no  longer 
the  new  pastor,  but  her  beloved,  and  she  was  living 
over  again  the  sweet  days  of  the  past  when  he  was 
her  own  and  she  had  filled  his  life. 

The  preacher  was  reading  the  most  beautiful 
psalm  in  the  language  of  man:  "The  Lord  is  my 
shepherd ;  I  shall  not  want.  He  maketh  me  to  lie 


260  The  One  Woman 

down  in  green  pastures:  He  leadeth  me  beside  the 
still  waters.  He  restoreth  my  soul." 

A  strange  peace  came  over  her  as  the  music  of 
these  grand  old  sentences,  throbbing  with  the 
passionate  faith  of  centuries,  swept  her  heart. 

He  was  reading  from  the  old  Bible  that  rested 
on  the  same  golden  lectern  pulpit  Gordon  had  hurled 
behind  him  that  awful  day  in  their  history.  The 
same  crimson  cloth  he  had  twisted  into  a  shapeless 
mass  and  thrown  aside  once  more  hung  from  its 
front.  She  could  see  a  ragged  break  in  the  gold  of 
the  cross  where  his  enormous  hand  had  crushed  it 
that  day. 

The  thought  of  God's  eternal  life  and  unchanging 
purpose,  binding  all  time  within  His  mighty  plan, 
soothed  her  spirit.  Men  might  come  and  go  behind 
that  pulpit  and  from  its  pews,  but  the  Church  of 
God,  symbol  of  the  eternal,  would  go  on  forever.  In 
the  deep  rhythm  of  the  psalm  to  which  she  listened 
she  felt  the  heart-beat  of  its  continuous  unbroken 
life  stretching  back  to  creation's  dawn  and  on  until 
Time  shall  roll  into  the  ocean  of  Eternity. 

Suddenly  the  red  blood  leaped  from  her  heart  with 
a  thought,  "What  God  hath  joined  together  man 
cannot  put  asunder !" 

King's  face  grew  somber  as  he  saw  her  elation. 

He  knew  that  some  mysterious  spirit  had  sud 
denly  dropped  a  veil  between  them. 

When  they  returned  home  she  was  very  quiet  and 
her  dark  eyes  shone  with  unusual  brilliance. 


The  Irony  of  Fate  261 

"Ruth,  you  are  thinking  of  that  man,"  he  said, 
with  a  scowl. 

She  nodded  gently. 

King  trembled  and  his  fists  clenched. 

"I  could  kill  him,  the  great  egotistical  brute! 
How  strange  the  madness  that  binds  a  woman  to 
the  man  to  whom  she  first  surrenders  !  I  sometimes 
think  it  is  the  most  blind,  pathetic  and  tragic  instinct 
that  ever  shadowed  the  soul  of  a  human  being.  It 
is  degrading.  You  are  a  woman  of  character  and 
intelligence.  You  must  shake  off  this  peasant's 
mania." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  yearning,  mystic  look. 

"I  believe  God  had  a  great  purpose  when  He 
made  a  woman's  heart  like  that.  I  love  him.  My 
very  soul  and  body  have  become  in  some  mysterious 
way  one  with  him." 

King's  eyes  blazed. 

"Yet  he  flaunts  his  love  for  another  woman  in 
your  face." 

She  flinched  as  from  a  blow,  but  answered 
tenderly. 

"Yes;  he  is  mad  now.  The  flesh  has  mastered 
the  spirit  in  its  struggle  for  the  moment.  She  holds 
his  body" — a  pause  and  a  smile — "but  his  soul  is 
mine.  He  may  not  know  it  now.  He  will  some 
day.  I  know  it,  and  I  abide  God's  time." 

"How  long  can  you  hold  such  a  delusion,  I 
wonder?"  he  asked,  with  angry  amazement. 

''Forever,"  she  softly  whispered. 


262  The  One  Woman 

He  drew  himself  up  with  grim  force. 

11 1  am  going  to  win  you,  Ruth,"  he  said,  slowly 
lingering  with  his  lips  over  her  name  as  though  he 
could  taste  its  sweetness. 

He  looked  at  her  beautiful  face  and  figure  tenderly 
and  with  an  intensity  that  gave  to  his  eyes  a  strange 
glitter. 

She  turned  from  him  with  a  sigh  and  gazed  on 
Gordon's  portrait  hanging  over  the  mantel. 

"No,  Morris.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  play 
my  part  in  harmony  with  Love's  eternal  law.  If 
the  world  is  full  of  discord,  I  will  still  make  the  sweet 
est  music  my  soul  can  sing.  I  will  not  try  to  drown 
the  din,  but  in  my  own  way  sing  in  perfect  time  with 
the  beat  of  God's  heart.  Perhaps  some  soul  beside 
me  on  life's  way  will  catch  the  note,  and  it  will  not 
be  in  vain.  This  may  be  a  blind  instinct,  but  it  is 
not  degrading.  He  who  counts  the  beat  of  a  spar 
row's  wing,  teaches  the  stork  her  appointed  time, 
and  whispers  his  call  to  the  swallow  in  the  autumn 
wind,  will  not  lead  me  astray." 

The  man  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  as  though 
to  hide  their  misery. 

"You  are  throwing  your  sweet  life  away,"  he 
said,  reproachfully. 

"But  I  shall  find  it  again.  When  I  see  the  fury  of 
murder  in  your  eyes,  and  gaze  into  the  gulf  of  fierce 
passions  into  which  Frank  has  descended,  I  cannot 
seek  my  own  happiness.  The  sense  of  motherhood, 
the  feeling  of  kinship  to  all  women,  brings  to  me 


The  Irony  of  Fate  263 

again  the  certainty  that  I  am  right,  that  one  great 
love  unto  death  can  alone  give  the  soul  peace  and 
strength,  and  give  to  man  and  the  world  happiness." 

He  bent  forward  quickly. 

' '  But  if  he  were  dead  you  might  love  me  ?' ' 

1  'Not  as  I  love  him." 

"He  is  dead  a  thousand  times  to  you  and  your 
life, ' '  he  cried,  bitterly.  * '  He  is  your  wilful  murderer. 
You  will  see  this  by  and  by,  and  I  will  win  you.  I 
will  be  content  with  such  love  as  you  can  give  me. 
Mine  will  be  so  full,  so  tender,  so  warm  it  will  be 
resistless." 

She  shook  his  hand  kindly  and  bade  him  good-by. 

"I  will  send  a  carriage  for  you  and  the  children 
to-morrow.  You  will  go  to  the  capital  with  me  in 
my  private  car." 

"I'd  rather  not,  Morris,  but  I  have  promised  you, 
and  it  shall  be  so." 

The  ceremony  of  the  inauguration  was  the  most 
elaborate  seen  at  Albany  in  years. 

Tammany  came  to  the  capital  thirty  thousand 
strong,  and  thirty  thousand  strong  they  marched 
through  the  streets,  with  their  shining  silk  hats 
glistening  in  the  sun  and  their  lusty  throats  shout 
ing  for  their  leader.  They  had  voted  the  ticket 
faithfully,  and  sometimes  too  often  the  same  day, 
unkind  critics  had  said,  in  the  years  of  the  past,  but 
for  the  first  time  in  generations  they  had  placed  a 
full-fledged  Grand  Sachem  of  their  own  Great 


264  The  One  Woman 

Wigwam  in  the  Governor's  chair,  and  they  made 
the  welkin  ring.  In  the  joy  of  their  faces,  the  steady 
hoof -beat  of  their  big  feet  on  the  pavement  and  the 
stalwart  pride  with  which  they  marched,  one  saw 
the  secret  of  their  victory.  They  were  in  dead 
earnest.  Politics  was  the  breath  they  breathed  and 
the  blood  that  fed  their  hearts. 

King  felt  the  contagion  of  their  loyalty  and 
enthusiasm,  and  his  inaugural  address  was  inspired 
and  inspiring. 

He  placed  Ruth  and  the  children  in  choice  seats 
near  the  speaker's  stand,  and  in  every  movement  of 
his  body,  every  word  and  accent,  from  the  moment 
he  appeared  till  the  last  shout  of  his  victorious 
henchmen  died  away,  he  was  conscious  of  her 
presence. 

She  could  feel  the  intensity  of  his  powerful  will 
pressing  upon  her  in  this  triumph  he  was 
deliberately  laying  at  her  feet. 

When  the  ceremonies  were  over,  and  his  address 
was  being  flashed  over  a  thousand  wires,  he  sent  the 
children  for  a  drive,  and  showed  Ruth  over  the 
stately  executive  mansion.  He  knew  the  hour  was 
propitious,  and  he  had  planned  to  make  a  desperate 
attempt  to  win  some  sort  of  promise  from  her  for 
their  future. 

1  'Now,  Ruth,"  he  said,  softly,  "sit  here  on  this 
sofa  by  the  open  fire.  We  will  be  alone  for  awhile. 
I've  something  to  show  you." 

His  face  was  still  aglow  from  the  excitement  of  his 


The  Irony  of  Fate  265 

triumph.  He  drew  from  his  inner  pocket  an  official 
envelope  tied  with  a  piece  of  ribbon. 

She  leaned  over  with  interest,  thinking  he  was 
going  to  read  to  her  some  scheme  of  legislation  on 
which  he  had  been  at  work. 

Instead  he  drew  out  a  package  of  her  old  letters 
and  a  lot  of  faded  flowers — every  scrap  of  paper  and 
trinket  she  had  ever  given  him  in  her  life.  He  showed 
her  each  one,  and  gave  the  history  of  every  flower, 
when  she  had  given  it  to  him,  and  what  she  had  said. 

Ruth  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  he  silently 
watched  her. 

"This  one,"  he  cried,  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice 
and  a  tightening  about  his  eyes,  "you  gave  me  the 
night  I  took  you  to  that  ball  at  the  Hygeia.  How 
soft  and  delicate  your  hand  felt  as  you  placed  it  in 
the  lapel  of  my  coat !  I  could  see  myself,  as  in  a 
mirror,  in  your  great  dark  laughing  eyes.  I  never 
saw  that  picture  again,  Ruth,  and  the  laughter 
went  out  of  them  forever.  They  were  always  full 
of  storm  and  shadows  for  me  after  that  night." 

Her  lips  were  trembling  as  she  turned  these  leaves 
from  the  story  of  the  sunlit  days  of  her  girlhood. 

The  man  went  on  steadily  and  passionately.  "I 
could  show  you  messages  to-day  from  scores  of 
national  leaders  offering  me  their  support  for  the 
Presidency.  This  token  I  am  going  to  show  you 
now  has  no  value  to  the  world  or  at  a  bank, 
but  there  is  not  money  enough  on  this  earth 
to  buy  it."  ' 


266  The  One  Woman 

He  drew  from  his  pocketbook  a  little  pink-covered 
tintype  of  a  boy  and  girl. 

The  tapering  fingers  shook  as  she  held  it. 

"This  is  the  one  priceless  treasure  I  own — this 
little  old  tintype  we  had  taken  together  in  fun  one 
day  in  the  tent  of  the  strolling  photograph  man. 
You  remember  he  guessed  we  were  sweethearts  > 
and  grouped  us  by  the  old  rules  he  knew  so  well. 
You  see,  he  placed  me  solemnly  in  his  single  chair, 
with  my  legs  crossed,  and  made  you  stand  close 
beside  and  put  your  beautiful  hand  with  its  slender 
fingers  on  my  shoulder.  You  laughed  and  took  it 
down.  He  scowled,  and  put  it  back,  and  told  you 
to  behave.  It  was  your  birthday.  You  were  just 
seventeen.  I  was  not  half  as  proud  to-day,  when 
those  thousands  who  love  me  shouted  and  hailed 
me  as  their  chief,  as  I  was  that  moment  with  your 
dear  soft  hand  on  my  shoulder.  I  have  felt  it 
there  every  hour  since.  You  see,  I  have  kissed  it 
until  I've  worn  your  face  almost  away,  but  the 
smile  is  still  there." 

He  took  her  hand  gently. 

"Ruth,  dear,  let  me  bring  the  smile  back  to  your 
living  face.  These  great  rooms  will  be  empty  and 
lonely.  I  wish  to  hear  the  patter  of  your  children's 
feet  in  them,  and  the  echo  of  your  soft  footsteps 
behind  them.  You  are  just  thirty-five,  in  the  full 
glory  of  perfect  womanhood,  far  more  beautiful  than 
this  girl  of  seventeen.  Promise  me  that  at  the  end 
of  a  year  you  will  be  mine,  and  let  me  make  your  life 


The  Irony  of  Fate  267 

as  glorious  to  the  world  as  the  beauty  of  your  soul 
and  body  is  to  me-you,  the  forsaken,  whom  fools 

pity  or  blame." 

Looking  away  through  her  tears,  she  gently  with 
drew  her  hand,  bent  low  and  burst  into  sobs. 

"No,  no,  no  !     I  love  him.     He  is  my  husband  !" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AT   CLOSE   QUARTERS 

RUTH  had  been  deeply  shaken  by  the  events  of 
the  inauguration.  She  returned  to  New  York  in  the 
Governor's  private  car  in  a  dazed  stupor,  from  which 
she  did  not  recover  for  several  days. 

Morris  King's  appeal  had  stirred  elements  of  her 
character  she  had  long  ignored  or  suppressed.  The 
old  pride  of  blood  from  races  who  had  been  the 
conquerors  and  rulers  of  the  world  began  to  beat  its 
wings  against  the  bars  of  love. 

The  special  swept  along  the  banks  of  the  majestic 
Hudson,  roaring  through  cities  where  she  saw 
crowded  express  trains  held  on  the  side  tracks  for 
her  to  pass. 

She  drew  herself  up  proudly,  and  a  wave  of  fierce 
resentment  against  the  man  who  had  deserted  her 
came  like  a  blast  of  icy  wind  from  the  snow-tipped 
mountains  beyond  the  western  shore  of  the  river. 

The  splendour  of  the  stately  mansion  on  the  hill, 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  for  her  old  lover,  his 
tenderness  and  deathless  loyalty,  and  the  memories 
that  linked  him  to  her  in  a  cloudless  girlhood,  began 
to  draw  her  with  terrible  fascination. 

There  was  something  so  old-fashioned  and  chival- 
268 


At  Close  Quarters  269 

rous  about  King  and  his  love,  she  felt  a  strange 
melting  within  her  heart.  This  element  of  romance 
she  knew  he  had  inherited  from  her  own  medieval, 
home-loving  South  which  she  loved.  It  appealed 
to  her  now  with  a  peculiar  force — this  old-fashioned 
people  and  their  ways,  and  a  sense  of  alienation  and 
hostility  to  Gordon  and  his  radicalism  swept  once 
more  the  storm-clouds  across  her  dark  eyes. 

She  began  to  question  her  position  and  the 
sanity  of  her  course.  She  felt  the  stirrings  of  social 
instincts  from  the  high-bred  women  of  old  Virginia, 
the  Mother  of  Presidents  and  the  home  of  the  great 
constructive  minds  which  had  created  the  Republic. 
She  knew  instinctively  that  she  could  preside  over 
the  White  House  at  Washington  with  the  ease  and 
distinction  of  the  proudest  woman  who  had  ever 
graced  it. 

Her  old  lover  seemed  certain  to  be  the  nominee  of 
his  party,  and  his  chance  of  election  was  one  in  two. 
Whatever  the  outcome,  he  was  young  and  already 
a  figure  of  national  importance.  He  was  sure  to 
play  a  greater  role  in  the  future  than  he  had  ever 
played  in  the  past. 

The  idea  that  she  ruled  his  life  and  made  him  what 
he  was,  and  might  be,  brought  a  smile  to  her  lips  and 
the  red  blood  to  her  cheeks.  His  fame  as  a  man  of 
cold  and  selfish  ambitions  made  her  knowledge  of  the 
secret  of  his  inner  life  the  more  sacred  and  charming. 

For  two  months  this  battle  of  pride  and  blood 
with  the  one  great  passion  silently  raged  in  her  soul, 


270  The  One  Woman 

until  she  became  afraid  to  hear  the  ring  of  her  door 
bell  lest  it  should  be  the  Governor. 

She  determined  to  go  to  Florida  for  two  weeks  on  a 
visit  to  an  old  schoolmate  in  Tampa.  There,  amid 
the  sunshine  and  the  soft  breezes  from  the  gulf,  she 
hoped  to  see  her  life  and  duty  in  clearer  outline. 

It  was  the  first  week  in  March  which  found  her 
seated  in  the  centre  of  a  Pullman  car  of  the  Florida 
Limited  of  the  Atlantic  Coast  Line. 

The  train  had  passed  Richmond  and  was  sweeping 
through  the  desolate  broom-sedge  fields  still  fur 
rowed  by  those  mortal  trenches  around  Petersburg. 

Her  father  had  been  killed  in  one  of  those  trenches, 
a  gallant  colonel  cheering  a  ragged  handful  of  half- 
starved  men  in  gray,  unmindful  of  the  order  of  retreat 
until  engulfed  by  the  grand  army  that  swept  over 
them  like  a  tidal  wave. 

She  took  the  children  into  the  dining-car  and  found 
every  table  full  except  one,  and  two  seats  at  that 
one  already  reserved.  Lucy  was  placed  next  to 
the  window,  Frank  next  to  the  aisle,  and  the  mother 
crowded  between  them  with  an  arm  encircling  each. 

She  had  given  the  order  to  the  waiter,  and  was 
pointing  out  to  Lucy  the  lines  of  the  battle-field  on 
which  her  father  had  died. 

"There,  dear,  it  is,"  she  said,  with  a  tremor  in 
her  voice,  pointing  to  an  angle  in  the  trench  on  the 
crest  of  a  ridge.  "There  is  where  grandfather  was 
killed." 

While  Lucy  looked  and  Frank  climbed  into  her 


At  Close  Quarters  271 

lap  and  was  peering  out  the  window,  the  conductor 
placed  a  beautiful  woman  and  tall,  distinguished- 
looking  man  in  the  reserved  seats  at  the  same  table, 
opposite. 

The  boy  turned,  still  on  his  knees,  in  his  mother's 
lap,  and  faced  the  newcomers,  whom  Ruth  had  not 
been  able  to  see  for  the  child's  movements. 

He  stared  for  a  moment  at  the  man  with  wide- 
dilated  eyes,  his  body  suddenly  stiffened,  and  with  a 
half  sob,  half  cry,  he  sprang  to  the  floor. 

' '  Look  !     Mama,  dear— look  !     It's  Papa  ! ' ' 

He  threw  himself  on  Gordon,  and  his  little  arms 
held  his  neck  convulsively. 

The  man  blushed  like  a  girl  as  his  great  trembling 
fingers  smoothed  the  boy's  hair. 

Kate's  face  was  scarlet,  Ruth  turned  pink  and 
white,  and  Lucy,  trembling  and  sobbing,  began  to 
scramble  across  her  mother's  lap. 

The  boy's  hands  tenderly  framed  his  father's 
crimson  cheeks,  he  kissed  him,  and  again  and  again 
his  arms  clung  in  passionate  clasp  about  his  neck. 

4 'Oh,  Papa,  we've — got — you — at — last!  Why 
didn't  you  come?  We've  been  praying,  Lucy  and 
me,  every  night  for  you,  and  we  thought  you'd  never 
come  back.  Mama  said  you'd  gone  a  long,  long 
way " 

Ruth  was  choking  with  emotion,  and  yet  she 
smiled  through  her  tears.  She  knew  those  tiny 
hands  were  deep  down  in  the  man's  soul  sweeping 
his  heart-strings  with  wild,  sweet  music. 


272  The  One  Woman 

The  brunette  looked  across  the  table  into  the 
trembling  face  of  the  fair  one.  The  dark  eyes  were 
now  tranquil,  whatever  the  storm  within.  A  faint 
smile  suffused  her  face  with  mantling  blushes. 

Lucy  pulled  the  boy's  arms  from  around  her 
father's  neck  and  slipped  her  own  softer,  slender 
ones  there.  She  kissed  him,  and  laid  her  brown 
curls  on  his  breast.  Her  little  hands  patted  his 
broad  shoulder,  and  she  murmured: 

"  Papa,  dear,  I  love  you  !" 

Kate  attempted  to  rise,  bit  her  lip,  and  fairly 
hissed  in  Gordon's  ear : 

"  End  this  scene  !     Find  another  table  !" 

Gordon  drew  Lucy's  arm  from  his  neck  and 
whispered : 

"They  are  all  filled,  my  dear." 

The  blue  eyes  blazed  with  fury  as  she  cried  under 
her  breath : 

"  Get  up  and  let  me  out !" 

Gordon  gently  drew  the  children's  arms  away, 
placed  them  back  in  their  seats,  rose,  still  blushing, 
and  accompanied  Kate  back  into  their  car. 

At  first  the  boy  was  too  astonished  to  speak  or 
protest.  When  he  found  his  voice  he  whispered  in 
wonder : 

"Mama,  who  is  she?" 

Ruth  placed  a  finger  on  her  trembling  lips  and 
shook  her  head. 

"Will  she  let  him  come  back?"  he  asked, 
anxiously. 


At  Close  Quarters  273 

"Hush,  dear,"  the  mother  said,  softly. 

The  boy  put  his  arms  on  the  table  and  burst 
into  tears. 

Lucy  sat  very  quiet,  glancing  into  her  mother's 
face  wistfully.  And  then  she  felt  under  the  table, 
found  one  of  her  hands  and  began  to  stroke  it  gently. 

When  Gordon  returned  to  his  car,  immediately 
behind  the  one  in  which  Ruth  was  riding,  Kate  sat 
for  half  an  hour  in  furious  silence,  refusing  to  speak 
or  answer  a  question.  He  had  never  seen  her  so 
beside  herself  with  anger. 

She  turned  on  him  in  a  sudden  flash  and  asked 
with  frowning  emphasis : 

"  I  wonder  why  you  dragged  me  off  on  this  idiotic 
trip?" 

"I  was  worn  out  and  needed  the  rest,"  he 
answered,  quietly. 

She  looked  at  him  with  defiance. 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  "she  said,  indig 
nantly.  "You  wish  to  get  me  out  of  New  York. 
You  were  too  much  of  a  coward  to  tell  Overman 
your  suspicions  that  he  was  trying  to  win  your 
wife." 

Gordon  looked  out  of  the  window  in  silence. 

"  We  will  stop  at  the  next  station  and  go  back.  I 
don't  care  for  any  more  free  vaudeville  shows  in  the 
dining-car." 

"Don't  be  absurd,  my  dear;  you  need  not  meet 
again." 


274  The  One  Woman 

Gordon  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 

Tears  of  vexation  filled  the  violet  eyes. 

"  For  all  of  your  loud  talk  of  freedom,  I  believe 
you  still  love  that  first  wife  of  yours !  And  I  am 
beginning  to  despise  you." 

"Come,  Kate,  this  is  too  absurd.  How  could  I 
help  the  accident  of  such  a  meeting  ?  I  had  not  seen 
the  children  since  our  separation.  She  has  always 
taught  them  to  love  me.  How  could  I  prevent  it  if 
I  wished?" 

"Yes;  and  you  love  her,  too,"  she  insisted  stub 
bornly,  and  the  full  red  lips  trembled  and  parted, 
and  then  softened  into  a  smile. 

"But  don't  flatter  yourself  I  care,  or  am  jealous, 
because  this  scene  has  humiliated  and  angered  me. 
You're  not  worth  a  moment's  jealousy,  you  great 
hulking  baby !" 

Gordon  pressed  the  button  and  ordered  a  lunch 
served  in  their  seat,  and  smilingly  refused  to  con 
tinue  the  quarrel. 

When  the  train  crossed  the  North  Carolina  line  it 
ran  into  the  belt  of  the  advancing  spring  rains 
from  the  South.  At  Wilson  it  was  pouring  in  tor 
rents,  and  had  been  raining  steadily  for  two  days. 
At  Fayetteville  the  train  was  an  hour  late,  delayed 
by  a  washout. 

Lucy  had  gone  to  sleep  with  her  arm  around  her 
mother's  neck  and  one  hand  resting  softly  on  her 
cheek.  Ruth's  heart  had  been  deeply  touched  by 


At  Close  Quarters  275 

this  gentle  and  silent  sympathy  of  the  dawning  sex 
consciousness  of  her  daughter's  soul.  The  quick 
little  eyes  had  seen  the  tragedy,  and  a  voice  within 
whispered  its  soft  words  of  new,  mysterious 
kinship. 

Soon  after  the  train  pulled  out  of  Fayetteville  it 
struck  the  long,  straight  run  of  the  South  Carolina 
low  country.  For  thirty  miles  the  track  is  as 
straight  as  an  arrow,  and  before  the  gleaming  head 
light  of  the  engine  shows  on  the  track  the  watchers 
at  the  stations  can  see  the  trembling  light  in  the 
distant  sky  beyond  the  sixteen-mile  line  of  the 
horizon. 

The  dark  eyes  were  dozing  in  fitful  sleep  with  the 
old  spell  of  love  once  more  enveloping  the  soul.  She 
was  dreaming  of  him,  laughing  at  some  boyish  prank. 

Over  the  straight  track,  down  grade,  the  Limited 
was  sweeping  at  full  speed  through  the  black  storm. 

Suddenly  Ruth  was  awakened  by  a  sickening  crash 
as  though  the  earth  had  collided  with  a  star  and  been 
crushed  as  an  egg-shell.  The  car  seemed  to  leap  a 
hundred  feet  into  the  air,  plunge  through  space,  and 
strike  the  ground  with  a  dull  smash  that  sent  dust 
and  splinters  flying  through  every  inch  of  space. 

She  instinctively  seized  the  children,  trembling 
and  dazed,  and  hugged  them  close.  Merciful  God, 
would  it  never  stop  !  Now  the  car  was  plowing 
through  the  earth — now  falling  end  over  end, 
straining,  grinding,  roaring,  smashing  into  death 
and  eternity ! 


276  The  One  Woman 

At  last — it  had  seemed  an  hour — it  stopped  with 
a  shivering  crash. 

And  then  the  blackness  of  night,  the  swash  of 
gusts  of  rain  overhead,  and  the  moan  of  the  wind. 
Not  another  sound.  Not  a  groan  or  a  cry  or  a 
human  voice. 

Was  she  dead  or  alive?  Ruth  felt  she  must 
scream  this  awful  question  or  faint.  The  children 
began  to  sob  and  she  gasped  in  gratitude : 

"  Thank  God,  they  are  not  dead  !" 

She  attempted  to  get  out  of  her  berth  and  found 
she  must  climb.  The  car  was  lying  on  its  side.  She 
looked  out  into  the  aisle  through  her  curtains  and 
everything  was  dark.  The  air  choked  her  with  dust, 
and  she  caught  the  odour  of  burning  wood.  Deep 
down  below  somewhere  she  could  hear,  in  the  lull 
of  the  wind,  the  roar  of  waters,  and  feel  the  car  sway 
as  though  it  were  hanging  on  the  edge  of  an  embank 
ment  or  trestle  and  about  to  topple  into  a  torrent. 

She  pulled  the  children  out  into  the  aisle  and  tried 
to  crawl  toward  the  end  of  the  car,  only  to  find  it 
crushed  into  a  shapeless  mass  and  the  way  piled 
with  debris. 

A  light  suddenly  flashed  up  and  the  steady  crackle 
of  flames  began.  From  the  d6bris  below  came  the 
scream  of  a  woman  for  help. 

She  drew  back  her  slender  fist  and  tried  to  smash 
the  double  plate  glass  windows  and  only  bruised  her 
tapering  fingers. 

She  found  a  step-ladder  and  broke  the  windows  out. 


^fct      X,     -x      ^N.--- 

"  A  faint  cry  came  from  the  full  lips.  " 


At  Close  Quarters  277 

Lifting  herself  on  the  seat,  and  peering  through, 
she  saw  by  the  glare  of  the  buring  wreck  the  swirling 
waters  of  the  river  twenty  feet  below. 

She  rushed  back  to  her  berth,  on  the  lower  side, 
smashed  the  windows,  and  found  the  car  resting  on 
another  sleeper.  The  blow  had  broken  through 
both  sets  of  windows. 

She  lightly  sprang  through  and  drew  the  children 
after  her.  A  stifled  groan,  as  from  one  straining  the 
last  muscle  in  some  desperate  effort,  came  from  a 
berth.  Rushing  forward,  still  dragging  the  children, 
she  found  Kate  pinned  on  her  back,  with  the  flames 
leaping  closer  each  moment. 

The  violet  eyes  turned  pitifully  on  Ruth,  staring 
wide  with  the  set  agony  of  speechless  fear,  and 
searched  her  face  for  the  verdict  of  life. 

A  faint  cry  came  from  the  full  lips,  white  at  the 
thought  of  death: 

"Help  me,  for  God's  sake;  I'll  be  burning  in  a 
moment !" 

Did  the  dark  eyes  waver  with  an  instant's 
hesitation  as  she  thought  of  her  children  imperiled 
by  the  delay  and  of  the  shame  this  woman's  life 
meant  to  her  ?  If  so,  she  who  cried  did  not  see  it. 
Swiftly  the  lithe  form  sprang  to  the  rescue.  She 
ran  her  hands  over  Kate's  magnificent  figure  and 
tore  her  robe  loose  where  it  was  pinioned  between 
the  timbers,  loosed  the  wealth  of  auburn  hair  caught 
in  the  snap  of  the  folding  rack  of  the  berth,  and  she 
was  free. 


278  The  One  Woman 

She  took  Ruth's  hand  and  kissed  it  impulsively. 

"Thank  you.     You  are  an  angel." 

"Come,  we  will  be  burned  to  death  if  we  don't 
get  out  of  here  in  a  minute,"  Ruth  cried,  excitedly. 

She  found  the  berth  ladder  she  had  thrown 
through  the  window  and  broke  the  windows  out 
on  the  lower  side  of  the  car,  and  called : 

"Is  any  one  down  there?" 

Only  the  roar  of  the  water  and  crackling  flames 
answered. 

She  looked  and  saw  a  strip  of  ground  on  the 
bank  of  the  river  some  eight  feet  below.  They 
might  slide  down  the  trestle  if  no  one  could  help. 

The  black  eyes  flashed  into  the  blue  for  a  moment 
and  the  little  brunette  face  went  white. 

"Where  is  Frank?"  she  gasped. 

The  figure  shivered  and  glanced  at  the  flames. 

"I  don't  know.  He  was  in  the  berth  in  front  of 
mine.  I  hope  he  is  gone  for  help." 

Ruth  handed  her  the  children  and  leaped  back 
to  the  berth.  It  was  smashed  upward  and  a  great 
hole  torn  through  the  roof. 

She  hurried  back  and  again  peered  down  through 
the  broken  window  at  the  narrow  strip  of  ground  on 
the  river's  brink  lit  by  the  rising  flames. 

And  then  she  gave  a  cry  of  joy  at  the  sound  of 
a  voice  somewhere  amid  the  mass  beneath. 

"Ruth  !  Ruth  !  Is  that  you  and  the  children  in 
that  car?" 

"Yes,  Frank,"  came  back  the  steady  answer. 


At  Close  Quarters  279 

"Are  you  hurt?"  he  cried,  with  breathless 
intensity. 

"  I  think  not,"  she  replied,  cheerfully. 

"  Thank  God  !"  she  heard  his  deep  voice  burst  out 
with  trembling  fervour. 

"Have  you  seen  Kate?"  he  called. 

"Yes;  she  is  here." 

"Come,  get  out  of  there  quick.  You  will  be 
burned  to  death  !"  he  shouted.  "  Hand  the  children 
to  me  and  then  swing  down — I  can  catch  you,  one 
at  a  time." 

She  held  the  boy's  hands  and  dropped  him  in  his 
father's  arms,  then  swung  Lucy  through  and  saw 
her  clasp  his  neck  and  kiss  him.  She  helped  Kate 
hold  and  swing  down  into  his  arms.  And  when  she 
felt  him  tremble  at  the  touch  of  her  own  petite 
figure  her  arms  tightened  about  his  neck,  she  kissed 
him  and  whispered: 

"My  own  dear  love  !" 

They  climbed  up  the  river  bank  and  walked 
around  in  the  pouring  rain,  barefoot  and  treading 
on  broken  glass  at  every  step. 

Neither  the  conductor  of  the  train  or  Pullman 
cars  were  anywhere  to  be  seen.  Only  one  porter 
appeared  to  have  survived,  and  he  sat  moaning 
on  a  piece  of  de*bris. 

The  great  engine,  like  a  huge  living  monster  that 
had  seen  with  its  single  eye  the  abyss  of  the  broken 
bridge  in  time,  had  leaped  the  chasm  and  gone 
plunging  and  tearing  over  the  ties  and  rails  a  half- 


280  The  One  Woman 

mile  beyond  the  wreck,  with  the  engineer  and  fire 
man  clinging  to  it. 

The  lighter  portion  of  the  train  had  struck  the 
embankment  of  the  narrow  river.  The  day  cars 
were  piled  across  the  track  beyond;  the  three 
Pullmans,  smashed  and  heaped  on  top  of  one 
another,  hung  on  the  edge  of  the  broken  bridge. 

Gordon,  with  the  two  women  and  children, 
finally  found  a  man  who  had  some  sense — a  fat 
drummer  seated  on  his  sample-cases  calmly  putting 
on  his  shoes  by  the  light  of  the  burning  cars. 

He  was  talking  to  a  younger  drummer  sitting 
near,  who  fidgeted  and  kept  looking  about  nervously. 

"Take  it  easy,  sonny.  Put  on  your  shoes,"  he 
said,  soothingly. 

"This  is  awful !"  the  young  one  sighed. 

"Well,  we're  all  right,  top  side  up,  marked  'with 
care.'  Don't  worry.  Put  on  your  shoes.  You 
can't  walk  in  this  glass  barefoot." 

When  he  saw  Gordon  and  his  party  he  stopped 
tying  his  shoes  and  laughed. 

"Well,  partner,  you  look  like  a  patriarch  who's 
lost  his  way.  Ain't  none  of  your  family  got  shoes  ? " 

He  looked  at  Gordon's  bleeding  feet  and  at 
Kate  and  Ruth  shivering  behind  him  in  the  rain. 

Gordon  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

The  fat  man  hastily  pulled  off  his  own  shoes, 
snatched  off  those  of  the  younger  man  beside  him 
and  offered  them  to  the  ladies. 

"They  won't  be  what  you  might  call  a  stylish  fit, 


At  Close  Quarters  281 

madam,"  he  said  gallantly  to  Ruth,  "but  they'll 
beat  broken  glass  for  comfort." 

Paying  no  attention  to  their  protests,  he  made 
them  sit  down  on  the  sample-cases  and  put  them 
on. 

Turning  to  Gordon  and  his  companion,  he  called 
cheerfully : 

"Come,  men,  that  Pullman's  full  of  blankets;  we 
must  get  them  out  for  the  women  and  children 
before  it's  too  late.  It's  too  dark  to  find  our 
umbrellas.  I  believe  that  fool  conductor's  got 
mine  anyhow  and  gone  home  with  it.  I  haven't 
seen  him  anywhere." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  had  blankets  for  all  the 
passengers  who  had  lost  their  clothes.  By  day 
break  he  had  found  the  conductor,  counted  his 
tickets,  and  discovered  that  out  of  fifty  passengers 
on  the  train  twenty  had  been  wounded,  none 
fatally,  and  that  thirty  had  escaped  without  a 
scratch.  The  train  had  dropped  most  of  its  pas 
sengers  during  the  day  and  had  only  an  average 
of  ten  people  to  a  coach,  and  they  were  seated  and 
sleeping  near  the  centres  of  each  car.  By  what 
seemed  a  miracle,  none  were  killed. 

Just  as  the  sun  rose  the  drummer  formed  the 
passengers  in  line,  with  the  conductor  bringing  up 
the  rear,  and  marched  them  to  a  cabin  where  he 
saw  smoke  curling  up  from  the  edge  of  a  field. 

The  relief  train  from  Florence,  four  miles  away, 
arrived  at  eight,  just  four  hours  from  the  time  the 


282  The  One  Woman 

accident  occurred,  bringing  the  surgeons  and  new 
officers  to  take  charge,  and  the  drummer  resigned 
his  command. 

The  new  conductor  took  the  name  and  address  of 
each  passenger  as  they  sat  in  grim  array  swathed  in 
blankets  in  the  cabin. 

Gordon  gave  the  name  of  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank 
Gordon,  New  York,"  for  himself  and  Kate,  who  sat 
beside  him.  Ruth,  not  hearing  him,  with  an  absent 
look  gave  the  address,  "Mrs.  Frank  Gordon,  New 
York." 

The  conductor  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
puzzled,  and  the  drummer  grinned. 

"A  Mormon  Elder,  by  the  Lord — and  he  lives  in 
Gotham !"  he  whispered  to  the  youngster  he  had 
in  tow. 

Lucy  lay  in  her  mother's  lap  suffering  from  an 
ugly  gash  across  her  forehead.  Gordon  had  bathed 
her  forehead  as  soon  as  he  had  discovered  it,  and 
carried  her  to  the  cabin,  with  her  soft  arms  clinging 
around  his  neck. 

He  was  watching  her  lips  twitch. 

She  had  grown  in  the  three  years  out  of  all  resem 
blance  to  the  child  he  had  left.  Her  eyes  now 
looked  at  him  with  the  timid  light  of  a  maiden. 

As  she  had  clung  to  him  while  he  carried  her  to  the 
house  he  had  felt  her  lips  soft  and  warm  with  the 
dawn  of  sex  when  she  kissed  him  and  murmured : 

"Papa,  dear,  it's  so  good  to  have  you  carry  me. 
I  love  you." 


At  Close  Quarters  283 

For  the  first  time  there  came  into  his  soul  the 
sweet  and  terrible  realisation  that  his  own  flesh  and 
blood  had  become  one  with  Ruth's  in  the  greatest 
miracle  of  earth,  the  heart  of  a  woman — a  woman 
who  could  live  and  suffer  and  whose  heart  could 
break  even  as  her  mother's  !  Her  eyes  were  all 
his,  her  hair  a  perfect  mixture  of  the  pigments  with 
which  theirs  had  been  coloured.  The  strength  of 
the  man  trembled  with  tender  pride  and  wonder 
as  he  looked  at  her — his  living  marriage  vow,  written 
out  before  his  eyes  in  a  beautiful  poem  of  flesh  and 
blood.  In  the  gentle  beauty  of  her  face  he  saw 
reflected  himself  blended  with  the  young  vision 
of  Ruth  as  he  had  first  met  her  a  laughing  girl — 
the  little  stranger  a  growing  woman,  himself  and 
his  first  love  dream  in  one.  Her  face  held  him 
fascinated. 

Kate  watched  him  furtively. 

The  doctor  examined  and  dressed  Lucy's  wound, 
and  told  Ruth  it  must  be  sewed  up  at  once  if  the 
child  were  saved  from  an  ugly  scar  that  would  dis 
figure  her  for  life.  He  pronounced  the  heart  action 
too  weak  from  the  shock  to  use  an  anesthetic. 

"It  can  only  be  done,  madam,"  he  gravely  said 
to  her,  "if  you  can  get  her  consent  to  endure  the 
pain." 

"Will  you  bear  it,  dear?"  the  mother  asked. 

She  raised  herself  up  and  beckoned  to  her  father. 

Gordon  had  heard  the  doctor's  remark,  came  at 
once  and  bent  over  her. 


284  The  One  Woman 

"  I  can  if  Papa  will  hold  me  in  his  arms  and  you 
take  one  hand  and  he  the  other,"  she  said,  eagerly. 

Gordon  took  her  and  told  the  surgeon  to  take 
the  stitches  without  delay. 

The  first  one  she  bore  bravely.  But  when  the 
steel  needle  cut  the  flesh  the  second  time,  and  the 
sharp  pain  sent  its  chill  to  her  heart,  the  little  face 
went  white  and  she  gasped: 

"Kiss  me,  Papa — Mama,  quick " 

They  both  bent  at  once,  and  the  blond  locks  of  the 
man  mingled  with  the  dark  hair  of  the  woman  as 
their  lips  touched  her  face. 

The  doctor  paused,  and  Lucy  smiled  faintly. 

"  I'm  better  now.     I  can  stand  it. " 

Gordon  felt  a  strange  thrill  to  the  last  depths  of 
his  soul  as  he  sat  there  holding  one  of  his  daughter's 
hands  while  Ruth  held  the  other.  A  sense  of 
mysterious  unity  with  their  life  came  over  him. 

The  little  woman  saw  his  emotion  and  knew  its 
meaning. 

She  bent  close  and,  while  a  smile  played  around 
her  eyes,  whispered  softly  and  triumphantly: 

"  Frank,  I'd  go  through  another  wreck  for  this. " 

And  the  man  was  silent. 

At  Florence,  clothes  were  brought  to  the  train, 
and  those  who  had  none  were  rigged  out  after  a 
fashion  for  the  return  home. 

Not  a  passenger  on  the  train  wished  to  continue 
his  journey  except  the  fat  drummer.  He  went  on  to 


At  Close  Quarters  285 

th3  next  station  where  he  had  intended  to  stop,  as 
though  nothing  worth  talking  about  had  happened, 
and  sold  a  bill  of  goods  before  dinner. 

Ruth  and  the  children  returned  to  New  York  on 
the  first  train,  and  Gordon  and  Kate  followed  on  the 
next. 

Kate  had  scarcely  spoken  a  word  since  he  had 
lifted  her  from  the  wreck.  She  was  in  a  deep  reverie, 
but  from  the  occasional  gleam  of  her  eyes  Gordon 
knew  she  was  passing  through  some  great  crisis.  He 
wondered  what  the  effects  of  this  hour  face  to  face 
with  death  would  be  on  her  character. 

He  was  amazed  at  the  changes  in  Ruth  since  he 
had  last  seen  her.  She  had  blossomed  into  the  perfect 
beauty  of  womanhood.  Not  a  trace  of  anxiety  was 
left  on  her  face.  Her  great  dark  eyes  were  calm  and 
soft.  Her  lips  were  fuller,  and  her  complexion  white 
and  pink,  wreathed  in  its  raven  hair.  Her  figure  was 
now  the  perfection  of  the  petite  Spanish  type,  in  full, 
voluptuous  lines,  yet  erect,  lithe,  with  small  hands 
and  feet  and  tiny  wrists,  her  whole  being  breathing  a 
spiritual  charm.  Grace,  delicacy  and  distinction 
were  in  every  movement  of  her  body,  and  over  it  all 
an  unconscious  and  winning  dignity. 

After  several  hours  of  silence,  as  they  sped  back 
toward  New  York,  Kate  looked  at  him  curiously  and 
laughed. 

"You're  not  quite  so  handsome,  Frank,  in  those 
trousers  that  stop  at  the  top  of  your  shoes  and  that 
coat  that  pauses  just  below  your  elbow. " 


286  The  One  Woman 

He  held  up  his  long,  powerful  arms  and  said, 
meditatively : 

"No.     Gestures  arrayed  like  that  could  hardly 
move  an  audience." 

The  shadows  fell  across  the  blue  eyes  again  and 
they  swept  him  with  a  critical  expression. 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  that  Ruth  saved  my  life. " 

Gordon  turned  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  and  it  was  a  shock  to  me  I'll  never  get  over. 
I  don't  know  whether  I  could  have  done  as  much  for 
her  under  similar  circumstances,  with  two  children 
clinging  to  me  and  life  depending  on  a  moment's  time 
perhaps.  But  she  did  it,  swiftly  and  beautifully. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  quite  fallen  in  love  with 
her.  She  is  a  wonderful  little  woman.  I've  been 
sitting  here  for  hours  wondering  at  the  meanness  of 
a  man  who  could  desert  her.  Those  great  soulful 
eyes  of  hers  !  When  I  looked  up  into  them,  crying 
like  a  poor  coward  for  life — I,  who  had  robbed  her 
of  what  she  held  dearer  than  life — I  saw  only  a 
tender  mother's  soul  looking  down  at  me.  Frank,  I 
fear  your  spell  over  me  is  broken.  You're  a  poor 
piece  of  clay.  The  blaze  in  that  car  lit  up  some 
corners  of  my  soul  I  never  saw  before.  I  think  I'll 
despise  all  men  and  love  all  women  after  to-day. 
What  fools  and  puppets  we  are  !" 

The  man  made  no  reply.  He  only  looked  out  the 
window  at  the  flying  landscape  and  saw  the  sweet 
face  of  a  little  girl. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
VENUS  VICTRIX 

THE  flames  of  those  burning  cars,  leaping  into  the 
skies  above  the  tops  of  the  storm-tossed  trees,  had 
lighted  some  dark  places  in  Gordon's  soul,  and  he 
was  sobered  by  the  revelation. 

The  clasp  of  Ruth's  arms  about  his  neck,  the  warm 
touch  of  her  plump  figure,  the  pressure  of  her  lips  on 
his,  and  the  passionate  murmur  of  the  low  contralto 
voice  in  his  ears,  "  My  own  dear  love  !"  thrilled  him 
with  tenderest  memories. 

He  sat  by  Kate's  side  brooding  over  the  days  and 
nights  of  their  married  life.  Baffled  and  puzzled, 
his  mind  would  come  back  with  everlasting  persist 
ence  to  the  strange  feeling  that  held  him  to  Ruth — a 
subtle  and  sweet  mystery,  the  most  intimate  relation 
the  soul  and  body  can  ever  bear  on  earth,  the  union 
in  love  in  the  morning  of  life  and  its  tender  blossom 
ing  into  a  living  babe. 

He  began  to  ask  himself  had  not  their  being 
mingled  somehow  in  essence?  Had  they  not  been 
really  united  by  that  vital  process  which  sometimes 
makes  married  people  grow  to  look  alike,  and  often 
to  die  on  the  same  day? 

Intimately  he  knew  this  little  woman,  to  her 
287 


288  The  One  Woman 

deepest  soul  secrets,  and  yet  she  had  still  eluded  him, 
and  now  revealed  subtle  spiritual  and  physical 
charms  he  had  never  seen  nor  felt  before. 

He  was  conscious  at  the  same  time  of  a  new  feeling 
of  repulsion  on  Kate's  part,  and  the  thought  filled 
him  with  nervous  foreboding.  Whatever  change 
her  disillusion  had  brought,  his  own  physical 
infatuation  for  her  was,  if  possible,  deeper  and 
more  unreasonable. 

She  could  not  make  him  quarrel,  but  he  would  sit 
doggedly  gloating  over  her  beauty,  his  gray  eyes 
flashing  and  gleaming  with  the  fever  for  possession 
that  is  the  soul  of  murder. 

He  was  not  long  left  in  doubt  as  to  the  turn  her 
thoughts  had  taken  from  the  crisis  through  which 
she  had  passed.  Her  drawing-room  was  crowded. 
These  receptions  were  protracted  until  long  past 
midnight,  and  he  had  never  seen  her  so  gay  or 
reckless  in  manner. 

She  dressed  with  a  splendour  never  affected  before, 
and  received  the  attentions  of  Overman  with  a 
favour  so  marked  it  could  not  escape  the  eye  of  the 
most  casual  observer.  She  made  not  the  slightest 
effort  to  conceal  it,  and  her  manner  was  so  plain 
a  challenge  to  Gordon  he  was  stunned  by  its 
audacity. 

Overman  felt  this  challenge  in  her  mood,  and, 
alarmed,  withdrew  from  the  scene.  He  did  not 
return  to  the  house  during  the  week,  and  on  Saturday 
he  received  a  dainty  perfumed  note  from  her  by 


Venus  Victrix  289 

messenger.     It  was  the  first  missive   he   had   ever 
received  from  a  woman. 

He  turned  it  over  in  his  broad  hand,  touched  it 
nervously,  and  opened  it  with  his  fingers  trembling 
as  he  recognised  her  handwriting. 

"My  Dear  Mr.  Overman:  I  have  been  sorely 
disappointed  in  not  seeing  you  again  this  week.  I 
write  to  command  your  presence  Sunday  morning 
at  ten  o'clock  to  accompany  me  to  the  Temple,  if 
I  choose  to  go,  and  to  dine  with  me. 
"Sincerely, 

"KATE  RANSOM  GORDON." 

He  wrote  an  answer  accepting  and  then  sat  hold 
ing  this  note  in  his  hand  as  though  it  were  something 
alive.  For  an  hour  he  paced  back  and  forth  in  his 
office  alone,  screening  his  eye  behind  his  bushy 
brows,  wrinkling  his  forehead,  twisting  his  mouth, 
and  now  and  then  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  collar 
and  tugging  at  it,  as  though  he  were  choking. 

Gordon's  new  study  was  in  the  dome  of  the  Temple, 
commanding  a  wonderful  view  of  the  great  city,  its 
rivers  and  bays,  and  the  long  dim  line  of  the  open  sea 
beyond  the  towers  of  Coney  Island.  It  was  his  habit 
to  take  an  early  breakfast  on  Sunday  mornings  and 
spend  the  three  hours  before  his  services  there. 

When  Overman  reached  the  house  at  ten  o'clock 
clouds  had  obscured  the  sun.  The  air  was  wet  and 


290  The  One  Woman 

penetrating  and  charged  with  the  premonition  of 
storm.  He  felt  nervous,  excited  and  irritable. 

The  maid  showed  him  into  the  spacious  library, 
where  a  cheerful  fire  of  red-hot  coals  glowed,  and  his 
spirits  rose. 

He  stood  before  the  fire  without  removing  his  top 
coat,  and  the  maid  said: 

"Mrs.  Gordon  says  to  make  yourself  comfortable. 
The  day  is  so  raw  she  will  not  go  out.  She  will  be 
down  in  a  moment." 

He  removed  his  coat,  sank  into  an  easy  chair,  and 
began  to  wonder  what  could  be  the  meaning  of  that 
note.  He  knew  intuitively  that  he  was  approaching 
a  crisis  in  his  life. 

He  felt  a  sense  of  anxiety  and  discomfort  at  the 
idea  of  spending  the  morning  alone  with  his  friend's 
wife.  Yet  he  told  himself  he  had  no  choice — it  was 
fate.  A  woman  had  arranged  it. 

When  Kate  entered  the  room  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  a  cry  of  amazement  at  the  vision  of  radiant 
beauty  sweeping  with  sinuous  step  to  meet  him.  He 
had  never  seen  her  so  conscious  of  power  or  with 
better  reason  for  it. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of  pink-and-white  filmy 
stuff,  which  clung  to  her  form,  revealing  its  beautiful 
lines  from  the  rounded  shoulders  to  the  tips  of  her 
dainty  slippers.  The  sleeves  were  open  to  the  elbow, 
showing  the  magnificent  bare  arms.  From  the 
shoulders  soft  diaphanous  draperies  hung  straight 
down  the  length  of  her  figure,  revealing  by  contrast 


Venus  Victrix  291 

more  sharply  the  graceful  curves  of  the  body.  The 
throat  was  bare,  and  her  smooth  ivory  neck  glowed 
in  round  fulness  against  the  background  of  her  hair 
falling  in  waves  of  fiery  splendour. 

Around  her  shapely  waist  hung  a  double  cord  of 
silver,  knotted  low  in  front  and  drawn  below  the 
knee  by  heavy  tassels. 

The  effect  of  the  dress  was  simplicity  itself.  There 
was  not  a  superfluous  ruffle  or  ribbon.  Its  sole 
design  was  not  to  attract  attention  to  itself,  but  to 
reveal  the  superb  charms  of  the  woman  who  wore  it, 
with  every  breath  she  breathed,  every  step  and 
every  gesture. 

The  rhythmic  music  of  her  walk,  quick,  strong, 
luxurious,  breathed  an  excess  of  vitality.  The  full 
lips  were  smiling  and  her  cheeks  aflame  with  pleasure 
at  his  admiration. 

Her  eyes  spoke  straight  into  his  with  a  candour  that 
was  unmistakable.  They  knew  what  they  desired 
and  said  so  aloud.  They  had  thrown  scruples  to  the 
winds,  and  in  untamed,  primeval  strength  gazed  on 
life  with  daring  freedom. 

Overman  stammered  and  cleared  his  throat, 
bowed  and  blushed. 

She  took  both  his  hands  cordially  and  smiled 
into  his  face. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  back  to  see  me  this  week  ?" 

He  hesitated,  disconcerted. 

"I  know,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  leading  him  to 
a  lounge  by  the  fire. 


292  The  One  Woman 

"You  saw  the  jealousy  in  Frank's  big  baby  face 
and  you  stayed  away — now,  honestly!" 

He  pulled  nervously  at  his  moustache  and  his 
eye  twinkled. 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it." 

"Well,  I'm  not  a  child  and  you  are  not.  We  are 
both  full  grown.  I  am  thirty-one  years  old.  I  am 
not  Frank  Gordon's  slave,  nor  his  property.  I  am 
a  free  woman  by  his  own  words.  And  I  am  going 
to  be  free." 

Overman  glanced  at  the  door. 

-  "Oh  !  You  needn't  try  to  run,"  she  laughed.  "I've 
got  you  to-day.  You  can't  get  away,  and  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  something.  Can  you  guess  what  it  is?" 

The  banker  began  to  tremble. 

Kate  paused,  leaned  back  in  the  easy  chair  she 
had  drawn  close  in  front  of  him,  placed  both  of 
her  dazzling  arms  behind  her  head,  burying  them  in 
the  mass  of  auburn  hair,  a  picture  of  lazy  tenderness 
and  dreamy  languor. 

"Can't  you  guess?"  she  repeated. 

"I'm  not  so  bold  as  to  dare,"  he  answered,  gravely. 

"I  will  dare,"  she  said,  eagerly  leaning  forward 
and  bending  so  close  he  caught  the  perfume  of  her 
hair. 

The  blood  rushed  in  surging  tumult  to  his  face. 

"When  I  found  myself  caught  in  that  wreck," 
she  began  in  slow,  mellow  tones,  "it  flashed  over  me 
that  I  had  been  leading  a  sham  life.  I,  who  profess 
freedom,  had  been  living  a  slave  to  form.  One 


Venus  Victrix  293 

great  desire,  the  most  intense,  the  most  passionate, 
the  most  wilful  I  had  ever  known  was  ungratified. 
Do  you  know  the  one  thing  I  asked  when  the  past 
and  present  and  future  flashed  before  me  in  a 
moment?" 

She  paused,  caught  her  breath,  and  gave  him  a 
look  of  passionate  intensity. 

"I  only  asked  for  one  hour  face  to  face  with  a 
great  masterful  man  I  know,  that  I  might  say  the 
unsaid  things,  dare  and  live  the  utmost  reach  of 
my  heart's  desire." 

Her  voice  wavered  and  hesitated.  Then,  with 
calm,  laughing  audacity,  she  said  in  sweet,  sensuous 
tones : 

"I  love  you,  and  you  love  me — loved  me  from  the 
first  moment  you  looked  into  my  eyes  !  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

Overman  rose  awkwardly,  pale  as  death,  his 
great  breast  heaving  with  emotion,  and  looked 
again  helplessly  toward  the  door. 

Kate  leaped  forward  with  a  laugh,  seized  his  hand, 
and  felt  it  tremble  in  her  grasp. 

"Is  it  not  so  ?"  she  repeated,  beneath  her  breath. 

He  looked  down  into  her  shining  eyes,  sighed, 
and  suddenly  swept  her  to  his  heart.  Her  arms 
circled  his  massive  neck  and  their  lips  met. 

' '  Kiss  me  again , ' '  she  whispered .  ' '  Again  !  Crush 
me — kill  me  if  you  like  !  I  could  die  in  your  arms  ! 
Tell  me  that  you  love  me  1" 

"I've  loved  you  always,"  he  said  slowly.  "But 
why  did  you  do  this  thing?  Frank  is  my  best 


294  The  One  Woman 

friend.  I  would  have  died  sooner  than  betray 
him." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  she  cried,  impetuously;  "that's 
why  I  told  you.  I  have  no  scruples.  I  am  free. 
It  is  our  compact.  I'm  done  with  his  maudlin 
sentiment.  I  have  chosen  you.  You  are  my 
master,  my  king.  I  am  yours." 

"Tragedy  to  me  as  it  is,"  he  said,  with  a  smile, 
"it  seems  too  sweet  and  wonderful  to  be  true,  that 
the  most  beautiful  woman  on  this  earth  should  love 
a  gnarled  brute  like  me.  How  is  it  possible  ?' ' 

She  smoothed  his  rugged  face  with  her  soft  hand, 
drew  his  head  down  and  kissed  tenderly  the  sight 
less  eye  that  had  caused  him  so  many  bitter  hours 
of  anguish  in  life. 

The  strong  man's  body  for  the  first  time  shook 
with  sobs.  And  the  woman  soothed  him  as  a 
child. 

"You  are  my  soul's  mate,"  she  cried,  in  a  trans 
port  of  tenderness.  "Frank  Gordon  is  no  longer 
my  husband.  You  are  my  beloved,  my  chosen  one. 
I  will  never  recognise  him  again.  We  will  separate 
from  this  hour.  I  am  yours  and  you  are  mine." 

Overman  took  her  hand  and,  still  trembling,  said : 

"Do  you  know  what  that  means  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  eagerly.  "I  know  you  will 
be  my  lord  and  master,  and  I  desire  it.  I  am  sick  of 
sentimentalism. ' ' 

"It  means  exactly  that,"  he  said,  with  emphasis, 
"Out  of  this  bog  of  fool's  dreams  I  will  lift  you 


Venus  Victrix  295 

forever,  my  own,  the  one  priceless  treasure  around 
which  I  will  draw  the  circle  of  life  and  death." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  cried,  in  a  glow  of  ecstatic 
feeling.  "I  desire  it  so.  I  wish  you  to  be  my 
master.  Your  service  will  be  sweet;  your  savage 
strength  will  be  my  joy." 

And  while  they  sat  planning  their  future  life 
Gordon's  footstep  echoed  in  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  GROWL  OP  THE  ANIMAL 

WHEN  Gordon  entered  the  library  he  glanced 
uneasily  at  his  wife  and  she  smiled  in  insolent 
composure. 

Overman  rose  hastily. 

"Sorry  the  weather  was  so  threatening  I  couldn't 
persuade  your  wife  to  go  to  the  Temple,  Frank." 

"Yes,  the  rain  is  pouring  in  torrents  and  it's 
getting  colder,"  he  answered,  rubbing  his  hands 
before  the  fire. 

"I'll  not  stay  to  dinner;  I've  an  engagement  at 
my  club,"  the  banker  said,  briskly. 

The  one  eye  ran  from  the  man  to  the  woman  in 
embarrassment  at  the  threatening  silence.  Kate 
walked  with  him  to  the  door. 

"You  will  return  at  seven  o'clock,"  she  said,  in 
even  tones. 

"If  you  command  it,"  he  coolly  answered. 

"I  do.  We  will  have  our  parting  this  afternoon. 
He  can  remove  to  his  old  quarters  at  the  hotel.  I 
will  receive  you  alone,  and  we  will  arrange  for  the 
divorce  and  our  marriage." 

"Promptly  at  seven,"  he  said,  crushing  her  hand 
in  his  parting  grasp. 

296 


The  Growl  of  the  Animal  297 

Gordon  ate  his  dinner  in  obstinate  quiet,  now 
and  then  looking  at  his  wife's  dazzling  beauty  with 
fevered  yearning  in  •  his  eyes. 

When  she  rose  from  the  table  he  said : 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  you  in  the  library,  my 
dear." 

"Very  well,  I'll  be  down  directly,"  she  carelessly 
replied. 

He  paced  the  floor  for  half  an  hour,  and  rang  for 
the  maid. 

"Tell  your  mistress  I  am  waiting,"  he  said, 
abruptly. 

The  maid  did  not  return,  and  his  anger  grew  with 
each  lengthening  minute. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  Kate  appeared. 

He  fixed  her  with  a  look  of  angry  amazement. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  she  asked,  impatiently. 

"Why  did  you  keep  your  maid  and  send  no  answer 
to  me?" 

"I  was  writing  a  letter.  Are  you  a  king?  What 
is  it?"  she  repeated,  coldly. 

"I  wish  to  say  something  of  the  utmost  importance 
both  to  you  and  to  me,  and  to  another  man,"  he  said 
slowly,  in  a  voice  pulsing  with  a  storm  of  emotion. 

The  violet  eyes  danced  and  laughed  in  his  face. 

"So  tragic?"  she  asked,  mockingly. 

He  locked  his  big  hands  nervously  behind  him, 
stood  before  the  fire,  and  a  scowl  settled  over  his 
face. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  quiet  force.     "More  than  you 


298  The  One  Woman 

understand,  I  fear.  I  have  had  enough  of  Mark 
Overman  in  this  house.'' 

The  fair  face  flushed  with  excitement.  She 
walked  quickly  up  to  him,  paused,  and  slowly 
pointed  to  the  door. 

"Very  well.  This  is  my  house.  You  know  the 
way  to  the  hotel,  or  shall  I  ring  for  my  maid  to 
show  you?" 

He  stared  at  her  in  a  stupor,  and  a  sense  of  sick 
ening  terror  choked  him. 

"Kate,  are  you  crazy?"  he  stammered. 

"Never  was  more  myself  than  in  this  moment  of 
perfect  freedom,"  she  replied,  defiantly. 

His  great  jaws  snapped  in  silent  ferocity,  and  his 
hairy  hands  closed  slowly  like  the  claws  of  a  bear. 
He  planted  his  big  feet  apart,  and  the  sparks  flew 
from  the  gray  eyes  that  seemed  to  crouch  now 
behind  his  brows. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  sullenly  asked. 

The  woman  drew  back  with  uncertainty,  chilled 
by  the  tone  of  his  voice. 

"Just  what  I  said,"  she  answered,  with  returning 
courage.  "This  is  my  house".  I  am  a  free  woman. 
I  mean  to  do  what  I  please.  Permit  me  to  repeat 
your  own  words  from  the  ceremony  of  Emancipation, 
and  lest  I  shock  you  later,  announce  that  I  love 
Mr.  Overman " 

"Kate  !"  he  cried,  in  bitter  reproach. 

"Yes,  and  he  loves  me.  I  announce  to  you  this 
unity  of  our  lives.  For  months  it  has  made  us  one, 


The  Growl  of  the  Animal  299 

May  I  repeat  your  ceremony?  I  have  memorised 
it  perfectly.  'Human  life  incarnates  God.  Words 
can  add  nothing  to  the  sublime  fact  of  the  union  of 
two  souls.  This  is  the  supreme  sacrament  of  human 
experience.  It  proclaims  its  inherent  divinity. 
There  is  no  yesterday  or  to-day  in  the  harmony  and 
rhythm  of  two  such  souls.  Love  holds  all  the  years 
that  have  been  and  are  to  be.'  " 

She  paused,  smiled,  and  went  on: 

"  'This  is  a  day  of  joy — overflowing,  unsullied, 
serene ;  a  day  of  hope,  a  day  of  faith.  It  is  a  day  of 
courage  and  of  cheer,  and  to  the  world  it  speaks  a 
gospel  of  freedom  and  fellowship.  It  proclaims  the 
dawn  of  a  higher  life  for  all,  the  sanctity  and  omni 
potence  of  love.  It  asserts  the  elemental  rights 
of  man.'  With  joy  I  announce  to  you  my  ap 
proaching  marriage  to  your  friend  and  school 
mate,  Mark  Overman,  a  man  in  whose  strength 
I  glory,  whom  I  shall  delight  to  call  my  lord  and 
master." 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  the  veins  on  his 
neck  and  hands  standing  out  like  steel  cords,  Gordon 
said  in  a  hoarse  whisper : 

"Kate,  darling,  this  is  a  cruel  joke!  You  are 
teasing  me." 

Again  she  laughed,  sat  down  lazily,  and  threw 
her  arms  behind  her  head. 

"I  never  was  more  serious  in  my  life,"  she  quietly 
replied. 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  his  eyes  devouring   her 


300  The  One  Woman 

beauty,  stepped  quickly  to  her  side,  knelt  and  took 
her  hand. 

She  snatched  it  roughly,  pushed  him  from  her, 
and  cried  angrily : 

"Don't  touch  me  !" 

He  attempted  to  take  her  hand  and  place  his 
arm  about  her. 

She  sprang  up,  repulsing  him  with  rage. 

"It  is  all  over  between  us.  You  are  not  my 
husband.  I  love  another." 

He  arose,  walked  back  to  the  fireplace  and 
leaned  his  elbow  on  the  mantel.  A  wave  of  agony 
and  blind  rage  swept  him.  And  then  the  memory 
of  the  hour  he  spent  in  such  a  scene  with  Ruth 
caught  him  by  the  throat.  He  could  feel  the  soft 
touch  of  her  tapering  fingers  on  his  big  foot  as  she 
lay  prostrate  on  the  floor  before  him. 

He  turned  with  a  shiver  toward  Kate,  who  was 
still  gazing  at  him  with  insolent  languor. 

Again  his  eyes  swept  the  lines  of  her  superb  form 
with  the  wild  thirst  for  possession  that  means 
murder.  Two  bright  red  spots  appeared  on  his 
cheeks. 

With  slow  vehemence  he  said : 

1 '  And  do  you  think  the  man  lives  who  will  dare  to 
take  you  from  me  ? " 

"Dare?  I  will  dare  to  turn  you  out  of  this 
house.  I  have  chosen  the  man,  and  made  love  to 
him  as  his  equal.  His  scruples  as  your  friend  bound 
him.  They  do  not  bind  me.  Thank  yourself  if 


The  Growl  of  the  Animal  301 

this  means  a  tragedy.  You  challenged  the  world 
in  your  strength.  You  proclaimed  freedom  in  com 
radeship.  Under  the  old  laws  of  life  this  man  would 
have  cut  his  right  arm  off  rather  than  betray  you. 
You  invited  him  here.  Has  he  no  rights — have  I 
no  rights  you  must  respect  under  such  conditions  ? ' ' 

He  ignored  her  question  and  continued  to  look 
at  her  in  stubborn,  curious  silence. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  saying?"  he  asked, 
brusquely. 

"Certainly.  Repeating  to  you  the  secrets  you 
have  taught  me." 

"Well,  I'll  teach  you  something  more  before  this 
drama  has  ended,  young  woman,"  he  said,  with  a 
touch  of  ice  in  his  tones. 

She  gave  an  angry  toss  of  her  head  and  cried  with 
sneering  emphasis : 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes.  I'll  show  you,  if  you  push  me  to  it,  what 
a  return  to  the  freedom  of  nature  really  means. 
I,  too,  have  had  some  illuminations  in  the  past 
months." 

She  laughed  again. 

"Ah,  Frank,  you  are  a  born  preacher,  and  your 
threats  are  scarcely  melodramatic;  they  are  merely 
idiotic." 

The  gray  eyes  grew  somber.  He  drew  his  right 
arm  up  until  its  muscles  stood  a  huge  twisted  knot, 
fairly  bursting  through  his  sleeve,  seized  her  hand 
roughly  and  held  it  with  iron  violence  on  his  arm. 


302  The  One  Woman 

"It's  worth  your  while  to  take  note  of  that,"  he 
said,  steadily  disregarding  her  angry  effort  to 
withdraw  her  hand.  "It's  made  out  of  threads 
of  steel — that  muscle.  Few  men  are  my  equal. 
I  am  talking  to  you  in  the  insolence  of  physical 
strength  that  proclaims  me  a  king — a  savage  viking, 
if  you  like,  but  none  the  less  a  king." 

She  attempted  again  to  free  her  arm  from  his 
brutal  grip. 

"Be  still,"  he  growled.  "I  feel  throbbing  in 
my  veins  to-day  the  blood  of  a  thousand  savage 
ancestors  who  made  love  to  their  women  with  a 
club  and  dragged  them  to  their  caves  by  the  hair — 
yes,  and  more,  the  beat  of  impulses  that  surged 
there  with  wild  power  before  man  became  a  man." 

With  a  sob  of  rage  she  tore  herself  from  his  grasp. 

"Oh,  you  brute  !"  she  cried,  stiffening  her  figure 
to  its  full  height,  her  dark-red  hair  falling  in  ruffling 
ringlets  about  her  ears  and  neck,  as  she  rubbed  her 
arm  where  his  hand  had  left  the  blue  finger-prints. 

"  I  warn  you,"  he  said,  his  voice  sinking  lower  and 
lower  into  a  mere  growl.  "I  am  your  husband. 
You  are  my  wife.  Whatever  may  have  been  my 
dreams,  I'm  awake  now.  Man  once  aroused  is  an 
animal  with  teeth  and  claws  and  Titanic  impulses, 
huge  and  fateful  forces  that  crush  and  kill  all  that 
com.es  between  him  and  his  two  fierce  elemental 
desires,  hunger  and  love." 

The  splendid  form  of  the  woman  shook  with 
anger.  Her  eyes  ablaze,  her  cheeks  scarlet, 


The  Growl  of  the  Animal  303 

her  voice  sobbing  and  breaking  with  wrath,  she 
said: 

"And  did  you  call  it  that  when  you  threw  your 
little  wife  into  the  street  for  me?  Is  this  your 
boasted  freedom — freedom  for  man's  desires  alone  ?" 

"  I  warn  you,"  he  repeated,  ignoring  her  question. 
"You  will  bring  that  man  into  this  house  again  at 
the  peril  of  his  life  and  yours." 

"Yes,  you  are  talking  to  a  woman  now,"  she 
hissed.  "  Babbler,  preacher,  parson,  coward  !  Why 
did  you  not  say  this  to  him?" 

"  I'll  say  it  in  due  time,"  he  answered,  deliberately 
folding  his  arms.  "In  the  meantime  I  will  inform 
you,  as  you  are  in  search  of  a  master,  that  I  am  your 
master  and  the  master  of  this  house." 

With  a  stamp  of  her  foot,  she  swept  from  the 
room,  throwing  over  her  shoulder  the  challenge: 

"We  shall  see!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
BULLDOG   AND   MASTIFF 

GORDON  remained  in  the  house  during  the  entire 
afternoon. 

Kate  called  a  boy  and  sent  two  messages.  One 
of  them  summoned  her  lawyer,  the  same  polite 
gentleman  who  had  brought  the  wonderful  message 
from  that  house  a  few  years  before. 

At  6 130  Gordon  went  to  his  study.  The  wind  had 
risen  steadily  and  was  blowing  now  a  gale  from  the 
northwest,  and  he  could  feel  the  cut  of  hail  mixed 
with  the  raindrops.  It  was  fearful  under  foot, 
and  he  knew  his  crowd  would  be  small. 

His  mind  was  in  a  whirl  of  nervous  rage. 

"Bah!  It's  this  infernal  storm  in  the  air,"  he 
cried,  in  disgust. 

A  feeling  of  suffocation  at  last  mastered  him. 
He  turned  the  service  over  to  an  assistant,  left 
the  Temple,  and  returned  to  Gramercy  Park  with 
feverish  step. 

Overman  was  in  the  library  in  earnest  consultation 
with  Kate. 

They  both  sprang  to  their  feet  as  he  hurriedly 
entered,  and  he  could  see  that  Kate  was  trembling 
with  excitement  and  dread. 

3°4 


Bulldog  and  Mastiff  305 

The  banker  was  cool  and  insolent. 

Gordon  walked  quickly  to  Kate's  side  and  spoke 
in  icy  tones  of  command. 

"  Go  to  your  room.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
this  gentleman  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  you  to 
hear." 

She  hesitated  and  glanced  inquiringly  at  Over 
man. 

"  Certainly ;  it's  best,"  came  his  low,  quick  answer. 

The  hesitation  and  appeal  to  the  new  master 
were  not  lost  on  Gordon.  He  squared  his  gigantic 
shoulders,  and  wet  his  lips  as  if  to  cool  them.  ^ 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  facing  Gordon.  " Before 
I  go  I  wish  to  announce  to  you  that  it  will  not  be 
convenient  for  you  to  spend  another  night  in  this 
house.  If  you  do  not  go,  I  will." 

He  bowed  politely  and  waved  her  away  with  a 
graceful  gesture. 

"That  will  do.     I  do  not  care  to  hear  any  more." 

Kate  turned  and  quickly  left  the  room. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  Gordon  said,  offering 
Overman  a  chair  with  excessive  courtesy. 

"Thanks;  I  prefer  to  stand,"  he  answered,  gruffly. 

The  single  eye  was  fixed  on  the  man  opposite  in 
a  steady  blaze,  following  every  step  and  every 
movement  in  silence. 

Gordon  took  his  place  by  Overman's  side,  thrust 
his  big  thumbs  into  his  vest  at  the  armpits,  and 
looked  off  into  space. 

"It's  no  use,  Mark,  for  us  to  mince  words,"  he 


306  The  One  Woman 

began,  in  even,  clear  tones.  "I  understand  the 
situation  perfectly." 

"Then  the  solution  should  be  easy  under  your 
code,"  the  banker  dryly  remarked. 

"All  I  ask  of  you  now,"  Gordon  continued, 
quietly,  "as  my  best  friend,  is  to  let  my  wife  alone. 
Is  that  a  reasonable  request  ? ' ' 

"No,"  was  the  emphatic  answer.  "Did  I  seek 
your  wife?  Yet  nothing  could  have  wrung  from 
me  the  secret  of  my  love  had  you  not  flung  the 
challenge  in  my  face  again  and  again;  and  even 
then  my  love  for  you  sealed  my  lips  until  she  broke 
the  spell  to-day  with  words  that  cannot  be  unsaid." 

Gordon's  face  and  voice  softened. 

"Granted,  Mark,  I've  been  a  fool.  I  know  better 
now.  I  appeal  to  your  sense  of  honour  and  our 
long  friendship.  Let  this  scene  end  it.  Let  us 
return  to  the  old  life  and  its  standards." 

The  big  neck  straightened. 

"Then  go  back,"  he  flashed,  in  tones  that  cut 
like  steel,  "  to  the  wife  of  your  youth  and  the  mother 
of  your  children  ! ' ' 

Gordon's  fist  clenched;  he  was  still  a  moment, 
and  when  he  spoke  his  voice  was  like  velvet. 

"It's  useless  to  bandy  epithets,  or  to  argue, 
Mark.  I  don't  reason  about  this  thing.  I  only 
feel.  My  passion  is  very  simple,  very  elemental. 
It  flouts  logic  and  reason.  This  woman  is  mine. 
I  have  paid  the  price,  and  I  will  kill  the  man  who 
dares  to  take  her.  Do  you  understand?" 


Bulldog  and  Mastiff  307 

The  banker  gave  a  sneering  laugh,  and  twisted 
the  muscles  of  his  mouth. 

"Yes,  I  understand,  and  I'm  not  fainting  with 
alarm.  You  will  be  a  preacher  and  a  poser  to  the 
end." 

"I  have  appealed  to  your  principles  and  your 
sense  of  honour  first,"  Gordon  repeated,  in  a  sub 
dued  voice. 

The  one  eye  was  closed  with  a  smile. 

"  Principles  !  Sense  of  honour  !  What  principles  ? 
What  sense  of  honour  ?  I  agree  that,  under  the  old 
view  of  marriage  as  a  divine  sacrament  and  a  great 
social  ordinance,  sacrifice  of  one's  desires  for  the 
sake  of  humanity  might  be  noble.  But  in  this 
paradise  into  which  you  have  thrust  me,  with  an 
invitation  on  your  own  door  for  all  the  world  to 
enter  and  contest  your  position,  and  with  you 
yourself  shouting  from  the  housetop  freedom  and 
fellowship Sense  of  honour?  Rubbish!" 

"I  can  see,"  snapped  Gordon,  "that  one  such 
beast  as  you  is  enough  to  transform  heaven  into 
hell." 

Overman  slowly  pulled  his  moustache,  and  a 
grin  pushed  his  nose  upward. 

"Exactly.  I  am  the  one  odd  individual  your 
scheme  overlooked — a  normal  human  being  with 
the  simplest  rational  instincts,  a  clear  brain  and  the 
muscle  big  enough  to  enforce  a  desire." 

"The  muscle  test  is  yet  to  come,"  Gordon  coldly 
interrupted. 


308  The  One  Woman 

The  banker  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  suppose  so.  And  you  know,  Frank,  the  fear 
of  man  is  an  emotion  I  have  never  experienced." 

Gordon  bent  quickly  toward  him,  his  face  quiet 
and  pale,  and  said  in  muffled  accents: 

"Well,  you  who  have  never  feared  man,  listen. 
Get  out  of  this  house  to-night,  give  up  my  wife, 
never  speak  to  her  again  or  cross  my  path,  or  else — " 
a  pause — "I  am  going  to  disarm  you,  bend  your 
bulldog's  body  across  my  knee  by  an  art  of  which 
I  am  master,  close  your  jaw  with  this  fist  on  your 
throat,  and  break  your  back  inch  by  inch.  Will 
you  go?" 

Overman  surveyed  the  questioner  with  scorn. 

"When  the  woman  who  loves  me  tells  me  to  go. 
This  her  is  house  !"  he  coolly  sneered. 

Again  the  voice  opposite  sank  to  velvet  tones. 

"Very  well,  we  are  face  to  face  without  disguise, 
beast  to  beast.  You  haven't  the  muscle  to  take  her. 
She  is  mine.  I  gave  for  her  the  deathless  love 
of  a  wife,  two  beautiful  children,  a  name,  a  career, 
a  character,  and  the  life  of  the  man  who  gave  me 
being,  who  died  with  a  broken  heart.  For  her  I 
turned  my  back  upon  the  poor  who  looked  to  me 
for  help,  forgot  the  great  city  I  loved,  overturned 
God's  altars,  scorned  heaven  and  dared  the  terrors 
of  hell.  Do  you  think  that  I  will  give  her  up?  I 
own  her,  body  and  soul.  I've  paid  the  price." 

He  paused  a  moment,  quivering  with  passion. 
"  I  know,"  he  went  on,  "  I  was  a  fool  floundering  in 


Bulldog  and  Mastiff  309 

a  bog  of  sentiment.  But  you — one-eyed  brute — 
you  were  never  deceived  about  anything.  You 
set  your  lecherous  eye  on  her  from  the  first  and 
determined  to  poison  her  mind  and  take  her  from 
me." 

"And  I  will  take  her,"  came  the  fierce  growl 
from  the  depths  of  his  throat,  "and  lift  her  from 
the  mire  into  which  you  have  dragged  her  peerless 
being." 

The  man  opposite  gave  a  quick,  nervous  laugh. 

"Well,  I,  who  have  dreamed  the  salvation  of 
the  world  and  lost  my  own  soul,  may  sink  to-night, 
but,  old  boy  " — he  paused  and  laughed  hysterically — 
"I'll  pull  down  with  me  into  hell  as  I  go  one  Wall 
Street  banker!" 

"Talk  is  cheap,"  Overman  hissed.  "Make  the 
experiment.  You're  keeping  a  lady  waiting." 

Gordon  stepped  quickly  to  the  desk  and  picked 
up  two  ivory-handled  daggers  with  keen  ten-inch 
blades,  used  as  paper  knives,  and  handed  one  to 
Overman. 

"These  little  toys,"  he  said,  playfully,  "were  a 
wedding  present  from  my  wife  on  our  second 
anniversary." 

"Which  wife?"  snarled  the  big,  sneering  mouth. 

Gordon  went  on  meditatively. 

"They  are  the  finest  Italian  steel — sharp  medicine 
for  friends  to  take  and  give,  but  it  will  cure  our  ills. 
I  never  quite  understood  before  what  you  meant  by 
the  fighting  instinct  when  I  used  to  watch  you 


310  The  One  Woman 

fasten  those  little  devilish  points  on  your  Game 
chickens.  I  know  now.  I  feel  it  throb  in  every 
nerve  and  muscle.  The  impulse  to  kill  you  is  so 
simple  and  so  sweet,  it  would  be  a  crime  against 
nature  to  deny  it." 

Overman  threw  his  head  to  one  side,  frowned  and 
peered  at  the  man  before  him  curiously. 

"Do  you  ever  get  tired  of  preaching?  The 
articulation  of  wind  is  a  strange  mania  !" 

"Pardon  me  if  I've  tired  you,"  came  the  answer 
in  mellow  tones.  "You'll  need  a  long  rest  after 
to-night,  and  you'll  get  it." 

Gordon  locked  the  doors,  placed  the  blower  over 
the  flickering  embers  in  the  grate,  and  put  his  hand 
on  the  electric  switch. 

"  I  am  going  to  put  this  light  out  for  the  sake  of 
the  comradeship  and  chivalry  we  once  held  in 
common.  I  could  kill  you  at  one  blow  from  that 
blind  side  of  your  head.  I'll  fight  you  fair.  That 
is  a  bow  to  the  higher  law  in  the  preliminary  ritual 
of  nature.  But  down  below,  in  these  muscles, 
throb  forces  older  than  the  soul,  that  link  us  in 
kinship  to  the  tiger  and  the  wolf" — his  voice  sank 
to  a  dreamy  monotone.  "You  sneaked  into  my 
home  in  the  dark  to  rob  me  of  my  own.  In  the 
dark  we  will  settle  on  the  price.  I  paid  for  this 
treasure  an  immortal  soul.  It's  worth  as  much 
to  you." 

He  turned  the  switch,  and  then  darkness 
and  silence  that  could  be  felt  and  tasted — 


Bulldog  and  Mastiff  311 

only  the  thrash  of  the  storm  against  the  blinds 
without. 

With  catlike  tread  they  began  to  move  around 
the  room  on  the  velvet  carpet.  They  made  the 
circuit  twice,  and  found  they  were  following  each 
other.  They  both  stopped,  apparently  at  the  same 
moment,  wheeled,  and  again  made  the  round  in  a 
circle  without  meeting,  now  and  then  stumbling 
against  a  piece  of  furniture. 

Gordon  suddenly  stopped,  held  his  breath,  and 
waited  for  his  enemy  to  overtake  him.  He  could 
hear  Overman's  heavy  breathing  at  each  muffled 
step.  When  he  approached  so  close  he  could  feel 
the  movement  of  his  body  in  the  air,  he  suddenly 
sprang  on  him,  plunging  the  dagger  in  his  body, 
and  bore  him  to  the  floor,  knocking  the  blower 
from  the  grate  in  the  struggle. 

Over  and  over  on  the  velvet  carpet,  dimly  lighted 
now  from  the  glowing  coals,  they  rolled,  growling, 
snarling,  cursing  in  low,  half-articulate  gasps, 
thrusting  the  steel  into  flesh  and  bone,  nerve  and 
vein  and  artery. 

Gordon  suddenly  plunged  his  dagger  with  a 
crash  in  Overman's  shoulder,  snatched  at  it,  and 
broke  it  smooth  at  the  hilt. 

Throwing  his  opponent  to  one  side  by  a  quick 
movement,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  as  Overman 
rose,  fastened  his  enormous  hairy  left  hand  on  his 
throat  and  closed  it  with  the  clutch  of  a  bear.  His 
enemy  writhed  and  plunged  the  steel  twice  to  the 


312  The  One  Woman 

hilt  in  Gordon's  breast  before  his  big  right  hand 
found  the  knife  and  wrenched  it  from  his  grasp. 

Then  slowly,  silently,  inch  by  inch,  he  bent  the 
banker's  body  over  his  knee,  driving  his  great 
fingers  into  his  throat,  until  the  spinal  column 
snapped  with  a  dull  crack. 

The  limp  form  sank  to  the  floor,  and  the  two  big 
hands  clutched  the  throat  until  every  finger  left 
its  black  print  as  if  branded  red  hot  into  the  massive 
neck. 

A  quick  knock,  and  Kate's  excited  voice  called: 

"Open  this  door!" 

Throwing  the  body  behind  the  desk  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  he  felt  for  the  switch,  turned  on  the 
light,  unlocked  the  door,  stepped  back  and  said: 

"Come  in." 

Kate  quickly  opened  the  door  and  rushed  into 
the  room.  He  locked  it  and  put  the  key  in  his 
pocket  without  a  word. 

She  turned  on  him  a  face  blanched  with  speechless 
horror  as  he  slowly  advanced  on  her  in  silence,  his 
eyes  wide  open,  cold  and  set. 

The  blood  was  running  down  across  his  cheek 
in  a  stream  from  a  wound  in  the  upper  edge  of  his 
high  forehead. 

She  stood  dumb  with  physical  fear. 

He  came  close,  in  laboured  breath,  his  face  still 
sick  and  white  with  the  desire  to  kill. 

The  voice  was  hard  and  metallic  with  the  vibrant 
ring  of  steel. 


Driving  his  great  ringers  into  his  throat. 


Bulldog  and  Mastiff  313 

"Say  your  prayers,  young  woman,"  he  said, 
slowly.  "You  are  going  on  a  long  journey  from 
whence  no  traveler  has  yet  returned." 

She  staggered  and  caught  a  chair,  trembling  and 
shivering. 

"Frank,  dear,  have  you  gone  mad?"  she 
gasped. 

"Yes,  I  went  mad  in  this  house  one  day  at  the 
sight  of  your  devil's  beauty,  and  I  have  been  mad 
from  that  hour.  Now  we  have  come  to  the  end." 

"You  will  not  kill  me?"  she  begged,  in  piteous 
fear.  "I  cannot  die;  I  am  afraid.  Surely  you 
love  me;  you  cannot 

He  seized  her  wrists  and  she  cowered  with  a 
scream.  He  held  them  in  one  hand  and  with  the 
other  swept  her  magnificent  hair  around  her  throat, 
grasped  it  in  his  iron  fist,  and  thus  choking  her, 
thrust  the  shivering  figure  backward  into  the  chair. 

She  managed  to  free  her  hands,  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  tried  to  smother  him  with 
kisses. 

"  Frank,  dear,  I'll  love  you.  Surely  you  will  not 
kill  me.  Have  pity  for  all  that  I  have  been  to  you 
in  the  past — 

"Hush,"  he  said  softly,  putting  his  big  hand  over 
her  full  lips.  "Why  such  childish  terror?  Love 
has  its  moments  of  sublime  cruelty.  This  impulse 
to  kill  is  only  the  awful  desire  for  titter  possession, 
the  climax  of  love.  I'll  go  with  you.  Neither 
life  nor  death  shall  take  you  from  me." 


314  The  One  Woman 

With  a  tremulous  moan  she  sank  into  a  swoon 
in  his  arms. 

He  loosed  the  hair  from  her  throat,  paused,  and 
looked  tenderly  at  the  still  white  face. 

Then  he  sighed,  groaned  and  kissed  her. 

"No,  no,  no,  no;  not  that !"  he  cried,  beneath  his 
breath.  "How  beautiful  she  is!  I  brought  her 
to  this.  Yes,  I  was  the  master  of  her  heart  and 
life.  I  could  have  made  her  anything,  angel  or 
devil.  I  have  made  her  what  she  is.  One  last 
kiss" — he  bent  and  gently  touched  her  lips — "and 
this  the  end." 

With  tenderness  he  laid  her  on  the  lounge,  loosed 
her  corsage,  smoothed  gently  the  tangled  hair 
from  her  white  face,  closed  the  door,  and  went  to 
his  room. 

He  bathed  the  blood  from  his  forehead  and  bound 
it  with  a  piece  of  plaster.  His  head  began  to  swim. 
A  sharp  pang  shot  through  his  breast,  and  he  felt 
he  was  suffocating. 

He  began  to  shiver  with  the  instinctive  desire  to 
escape,  threw  some  things  into  a  bag  he  usually 
carried,  stopped  and  scowled  with  uncertainty. 

"What's  the  use?     What  is  there  to  live  for?" 

Yet  the  big  muscular  hands  kept  on  at  their  task. 

An  hour  later  he  struggled  and  staggered  up  the 
hill  through  the  black,  roaring  storm  and  rang 
Ruth's  doorbell. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
THE  CLOUD'S  SILVER  LINING 

RUTH  had  spent  the  Sunday  in  a  desperate  struggle 
with  the  Governor.  Long  and  tenderly  he  had 
pleaded  for  a  pledge  that  would  bind  her.  He  had 
been  sure  of  the  note  of  hesitation  and  uncertainty 
in  her  voice  when  she  left  Albany  on  the  day  of  his 
inauguration. 

He  finally  left  her  with  the  firm  avowal : 

"I  am  going  to  win,  Ruth.  You  might  as  well 
make  up  your  mind  to  it." 

She  smiled  and  said  "Good-night." 

When  she  went  upstairs  a  low  sob  came  from  the 
nursery  and  she  tripped  into  the  room. 

For  the  past  year  Lucy  would  often  sit  for  an 
hour  at  a  time  in  reverie,  and  then  lift  her  little  face 
to  her  mother  with  the  question : 

11  Where  is  Papa?" 

Since  their  return  from  the  railway  accident  she 
had  never  asked  again.  She  only  sat  now  and 
looked  into  her  mother's  face  with  dumb  pain. 

Ruth  soothed  her  to  sleep,  and  was  standing  by 
her  window  trying  to  look  out  into  the  storm,  which 
was  lashing  great  sheets  of  wet  snow  against  the 
glass. 


316  The  One  Woman 

The  bell  in  the  kitchen  rang  feebly. 

She  listened.  Some  one  was  fumbling  at  the 
front  door,  but  the  roar  of  the  wind  drowned  the 
noise. 

The  bell  rang  loud  and  clear.  She  sprang  to  the 
stairs  and  went  down  with  quick,  nervous  step.  She 
fastened  the  chain-latch,  opened  the  door  an  inch, 
and  the  dim  light  of  the  hall  flashed  on  Gordon's 
haggard,  blood-stained  face. 

She  flung  the  door  open,  drew  him  quickly  within, 
slammed  and  bolted  it. 

Throwing  her  arms  around  his  dripping  form,  she 
drew  him  down  and  kissed  his  cold  lips. 

"Frank,  my  darling,  what  is  it?"  she  cried,  in 
breathless  amazement. 

"You  must  help  me,  Ruth,  dear,"  he  gasped. 
"We  had  a  fight.  I  have  killed  Overman.  If  you 
can  hide  me  for  a  few  days  I  can  escape.  I  don't 
deserve  it — but  I  know  that  you  love  me 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  sobbed,  kissing  his  hand,  "through 
life  and  death,  through  evil  report  and  good 
report !" 

She  put  him  to  bed,  washed  and  dressed  his 
wounds.  One  of  them,  an  ugly  hole  over  his  left 
lung,  kept  spouting  bruised  blood  as  he  breathed. 
The  dark  eyes  grew  dim  as  she  watched  it. 

"Oh !  Frank,  I  must  have  a  doctor,"  she  said, 
tremulously. 

"No,  Ruth;  I  can  sleep  now.  I'll  be  better  in 
the  morning.  A  doctor  will  know  me." 


The  Cloud's  Silver  Lining  317 

"But  I  have  one  I  can  trust,"  she  replied,  pressing 
his  hand. 

He  shook  his  head,  closing  his  eyes. 

"You  can't  stand  up  against  the  wind  and 
sleet.  It's  awful.  You  can't  walk  a  block.  Don't 
try  it." 

She  watched  his  mouth  twitch  with  pain. 

"I  will  try  it,"  she  answered,  firmly.  "Lucy 
will  watch  with  you  till  I  get  back." 

When  Ruth  called  and  told  her,  the  little  hands 
clasped,  a  cry  burst  from  her  heart,  and  she  kissed 
her  mother  impulsively. 

While  his  daughter  sat  by  the  bedside  gently 
stroking  his  big  blue- veined  hand,  Gordon  dozed  in 
sleep  and  Ruth  crept  out  into  the  wild  night  on  her 
mission  of  love. 

She  was  half  an  hour  going  and  coming  four  blocks. 
Three  times  the  wind  threw  her  on  the  freezing 
pavements.  When  she  climbed  up  her  own  steps 
her  clothing  was  shrouded  in  an  inch  of  snow  and 
ice,  her  cheeks  were  red  and  swollen,  and  her  hands 
were  bleeding,  but  a  smile  played  about  her  lips. 
The  doctor  was  coming. 

He  assured  her  that  the  wounds  were  not  fatal, 
and  left  instructions  for  dressing  them.  A  few 
days  of  rest  and  all  danger  would  be  past. 

Through  the  night,  while  the  wind  howled  and 
moaned  and  roared,  the  mother  and  daughter  sat  by 
the  bedside  and  smiled  into  each  other's  faces. 

The  meaning  of  the  tragedy  had  not  yet  dawned 


318  The  One  Woman 

on  Ruth.  She  only  knew  that  her  beloved  had 
come,  that  she  was  soothing  and  ministering  to  him, 
and  her  heart  was  singing  its  song  of  triumphant 
love.  The  long  night  of  the  soul  was  over.  The 
morning  had  come.  The  storm  without  was  on 
another  planet. 

As  they  watched  he  began  to  talk  in  fevered  half- 
dream,  half -delirium — words,  phrases  and  broken 
sentences  that  revealed  the  inner  yearnings  and 
conflicts  of  his  soul. 

"Silly  fool,"  he  muttered.  "Beauty — marvelous 
— Ruth — dear  dark  eyes — I— love — her." 

As  day  approached  Ruth  began  to  dread  its 
message.  Already  she  could  see  the  officers  at 
the  door. 

When  day  broke  she  tried  to  look  out  of  the 
window,  and  could  only  see  across  the  street.  The 
park  and  the  city  below  were  blotted  out.  The 
whole  world  seemed  one  white,  swirling,  howling 
smother  of  snow.  The  wind  came  in  long  gusts  of 
shrieking  fury.  She  could  count  its  pulse-beats  in 
the  lulls  which  were  growing  shorter.  And,  child  of 
the  sea  that  she  was,  she  knew  that  the  advancing 
cyclone  had  not  reached  its  climax.  She  breathed 
a  prayer  of  relief.  They  could  not  find  him  to-day. 

The  cook  did  not  come.  Not  a  milk- wagon  or 
bread-cart  echoed  through  the  street.  Not  a  call 
of  newsboy,  whistle  of  postman,  or  cry  of  a  school 
boy.  The  house-girl  had  not  come.  Ruth  descended 
to  the  kitchen,  made  a  fire,  and  cooked  breakfast. 


The  Cloud's  Silver  Lining  319 

With  her  own  hands  she  was  serving  her  Love,  and 
her  heart  was  singing. 

At  ten  o'clock  she  looked  out  of  her  window  and 
the  snow  was  piled  to  the  second  story  of  the  houses 
opposite,  which  were  receiving  the  full  fury  of  the 
blast. 

The  wind  was  visible.  It  blew  in  white,  roaring 
sheets  of  snow,  howling,  whistling,  screaming, 
shrieking.  Tin  roofs,  signs,  battered  chimney-tops, 
blinds,  awnings,  brackets,  flagpoles,  sheet-iron  eaves 
and  every  odd  and  end  began  to  crash  and  rain  in  the 
streets  and  bury  themselves  in  the  drifts. 

The  woman's  heart  rode  on  the  wings  of  the  storm. 
Her  beloved  was  hiding  safe  beneath  its  white 
feathers.  She  wondered  if  any  one  else  in  all  the 
world  were  singing  for  joy  with  its  wild  music. 

For  three  hours  of  the  morning  struggling  men 
had  braved  the  storm  and  fought  to  reach  their 
places  of  business.  Shouts,  curses,  calls,  laughter, 
the  screams  of  boys,  at  first ;  and  then  defeat,  silence 
and  the  roar  of  the  wind. 

Street-cars  were  piled  on  their  sides,  and  the  tracks 
jammed  with  debris  and  mountains  of  snow. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  from  Manhattan  there  was  no 
Jersey  or  Brooklyn.  The  ferries  were  still.  The 
great  dead  Bridge  hung  swaying  in  the  dark  sky,  a 
white  festoon  of  ice  and  snow,  like  a  jeweled  garland 
swung  from  heaven  to  soften  the  terrible  beauty  of  a 
frozen  world.  The  waters  below  were  lashed  into 
a  white  smother  of  spray.  The  air  cut  like  a  knife 


320  The  One  Woman 

with  the  sand  blown  from  the  flying  waves  of  the 
distant  beaches. 

Policemen  crouched  and  shivered  in  barred  door 
ways.  The  storm  had  caged  every  thief,  burglar 
and  murderer,  as  it  had  sheathed  the  claws  of  every 
bear  and  wolf  on  the  distant  mountain-side. 

The  snow  was  piled  over  the  tops  of  the  doors  of 
the  City  Hall  and  Court  House.  There,  no  Mayor, 
no  court,  no  jury. 

The  Stock  Exchange  was  closed,  the  Custom 
House  and  Sub-Treasury  silent,  and  every  school 
without  teacher  or  scholar.  Every  depot  was 
placarded,  and  not  a  wheel  was  moving.  Not  a 
newspaper  found  its  way  to  a  home,  or  a  single  piece 
of  mail  arrived  in  New  York,  or  was  sent  from  it,  or 
delivered  within  its  gates.  Every  telegraph  and 
telephone  office  was  silent  and  the  fire  department 
was  paralysed. 

The  elevated  trains  crawled  and  slipped  and  stalled 
and  fought  on  their  steel  trestles  till  ten  o'clock, 
and  the  last  wheel  stopped  and  froze. 

At  three  o'clock  a  Staten  Island  ferry-boat  ven 
tured  her  nose  out  of  her  slip.  The  wind  snapped 
off  both  flag-staffs  and  smokestack,  hurled  them  into 
space,  caught  her  in  its  mighty  claws,  dragged  her 
helpless  across  the  bay  and  flung  her  on  the  Staten 
Island  shore. 

Wherever  men  could  gather  they  talked  in  low, 
helpless  and  bewildered  tones. 

The  storm  signal,  set  by  the  Weather  Bureau,  was 


The  Cloud's  Silver  Lining  321 

torn  to  shreds  and  the  wind-gage  hurled  into  the  sky 
as  it  registered  eighty-two  miles  an  hour. 

On  the  mountains  of  Colorado  and  over  the  plains 
of  Dakota  it  had  begun,  a  fine,  misty  rain  sweeping 
eastward,  throwing  out  its  soft  skirmish-line  of 
breezes,  drawn  by  the  summons  of  the  Storm  King 
far  out  on  the  waste  of  the  sea.  And  then  the  king 
had  blown  his  frozen  breath  on  the  earth  and  the 
mighty  city  had  been  blotted  from  the  map  and  its 
tumult  stilled  in  soft  white  death. 

Ruth  drew  Gordon  to  the  window  against  which 
the  sparrows  crouched  and  shivered,  that  he  might 
watch  the  storm's  wild  pranks. 

"After  all,"  the  wounded  man  cried,  "it  has  been 
conquered,  the  rushing,  tumultuous  city !  Beyond 
the  rim  of  man's  map  of  the  world  broods  in  silence 
the  One  to  whom  its  noise  is  the  rustle  of  a  leaf  and 
this  wind  but  a  sigh  of  His  breath !  What  can 
endure?" 

His  eyes  rested  on  the  smiling,  lovelit  face  of 
Ruth,  and  he  forgot  the  storm  in  the  deeper 
wonder  of  a  pure  woman's  love. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
A  LACE  HANDKERCHIEF 

THE  next  morning  the  lulls  between  the  gusts  of 
wind  grew  longer  and  the  wind-waves  shorter.  The 
snow  ceased  to  fall  and  the  shadows  on  the  clouds 
began  to  brighten  with  the  glow  of  the  sun  behind 
them. 

The  city  stirred  and  shook  off  its  white  robe  of 
death.  The  woman  looked  at  the  wounded  man 
with  a  stifled  moan. 

"It's  no  use,  Ruth,"  he  said,  feebly.  "I  can't 
escape.  I've  got  to  face  it." 

"What  will  they  do  to  you,  Frank?"  she  asked, 
in  misery. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  brokenly.  "I 
killed  him  in  the  heat  of  passion  in  a  fight.  But 
I'll  be  tried  for  murder." 

The  officers  came  and  read  the  warrant  of  arrest. 
The  dark,  tense  figure,  erect,  with  defiant  face 
wreathed  in  midnight  hair,  stood  by  his  bedside 
and  held  his  hand. 

Her  great  eyes  glowed  and  gleamed  as  though  a 
young  lioness  stood  guard  over  a  wounded  cub. 

Behind  the  bars  in  murderers'    row  the  weeks 
322 


A  Lace  Handkerchief  323 

and  months  were  dragging  slowly  to  the  day  of 
trial.  The  rush  and  roar  and  fever  of  the  city  were 
now  a  memory  as  he  sat  in  brooding  silence. 

The  press  was  hostile,  and  reporters  worked  daily 
with  an  army  of  detectives  to  find  every  scrap  of 
evidence  against  him,  and  as  the  day  fixed  for  his 
arraignment  drew  near  story  after  story  appeared 
in  the  more  sensational  journals,  written  with  the 
clearest  purpose  of  influencing  the  mind  of  every 
possible  juryman. 

Ruth's  heart  sank  with  anguish  as  she  read  these 
stories,  but  they  stirred  her  to  more  vigorous 
action.  She  read  every  newspaper  carefully  and 
followed  every  clue  of  reporter  and  detective  to 
anticipate  its  influence. 

Not  a  day  passed  but  that  she  carried  to  the 
man  behind  the  bars  a  message  of  courage  and 
cheer. 

Gordon  would  sit  and  watch  for  that  one  face 
whose  light  was  hope  until  it  became  the  only  reality 
in  a  universe  of  silence  and  darkness.  His  whole  life 
seemed  to  focus  now  on  the  little  face  with  its 
dimpled  chin  and  shy,  tremulous  lips  smiling  into 
his  cell. 

The  soft  contralto  voice,  even  when  it  sank  to 
the  lowest  notes  of  melancholy,  was  full  of  tenderness 
and  caressing  feeling.  As  he  touched  her  tapering 
fingers  on  the  steel  bars  and  watched  the  red  blood 
mount  until  her  delicate  ears  shone  like  transparent 
shells  in  the  dark  mass  of  her  hair,  visions  of  their 


324  The  One  Woman 

life  together  would  rise  until  the  past  few  years 
seemed  the  memory  of  a  delirium. 

He  studied  her  with  increasing  fascination.  The 
illuminating  power  of  restraint  had  developed  new 
forces  in  his  sensitive  mind.  How  marvelous  she 
seemed,  walking  toward  his  cell  with  gentle  yet 
triumphant  footfall,  her  face  aglow  with  tenderness 
and  love,  and  how  his  soul  leaped  those  bars  and 
embraced  her ! 

Many  friends  on  whom  he  had  counted  had 
failed.  She  had  never  failed.  Her  resources  were 
endless,  her  energy  infinite.  She  would  have 
fought  all  earth  combined  without  a  tremor.  And 
yet  those  who  came  in  contact  with  her  felt  a 
gentleness  that  touched  with  the  softness  of  a  caress. 

The  day  before  the  trial  her  face  glowed  with 
hope. 

" Frank,  our  lawyers  are  sure  we  will  win!"  she 
cried,  with  joy.  "  Barringer  has  determined  to  rest 
the  case  on  the  charge  of  wilful  murder.  And  if  he 
does  the  jury  will  acquit  you.  There  is  only  one 
shadow  of  uncertainty." 

The  dark  eyes  clouded  and  a  gleam  of  fire  flashed 
from  their  depths. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  sorrowfully. 

"We  can't  find  whether  that  woman  is  going  on 
the  witness  stand  against  you.  I've  tried  in  vain 
to  get  one  word  from  her  lips." 

She  brushed  a  tear  from  her  eyes  with  a  lace 
handkerchief.  The  man  saw  it  was  the  mate  to  the 


A  Lace  Handkerchief  325 

one  she  had  given  him  stained  with  her  blood  the 
day  he  had  deserted  her. 

When  she  turned  to  go,  he  felt  for  the  cot 
behind  him  as  though  blind,  fell  on  his  face  and 
burst  into  sobs. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
A   LIFETIME    IN    A    DAY 

THE  court-room  was  crowded  to  suffocation.  The 
corridors  were  jammed,  the  pavements,  park  and 
street  outside  a  solid  mass  of  humanity. 

The  prison  van  plowed  its  way  through  the 
throng.  Gordon  stepped  out,  with  handcuffs  jin 
gling  on  his  wrists,  and  straightened  his  giant 
figure  between  the  two  officers  who  led  him. 

A  cheer  suddenly  burst  from  the  crowd  and  echoed 
through  the  court-room. 

There  was  no  mistaking  that  cry.  He  had  heard 
it  before.  He  knew.  He  had  killed  a  banker. 
They  were  glad  of  it  and  proud  of  him.  In  muttered 
curses  and  cheers  they  said  so.  He  was  the  champion 
of  a  class,  and  the  murder  of  an  enemy  had  made 
him  a  hero.  No  matter  the  right  or  wrong.  Down 
with  every  banker — what  did  they  care  ! 

Ruth  met  him  in  the  anteroom,  followed  him  into 
the  prisoner's  dock  and  took  her  place  by  his  side. 

The  bill  of  indictment  was  read. 

"The  People  against  Frank  Gordon." 

With  terrible  memories  the  title  rang  through 
his  soul.  The  people,  for  whom  he  had  fought,  for 
whom  he  had  suffered,  worked  and  dreamed,  had 

326 


A  cheer  suddenly  burst  from  the  crowd  and  echoed 
through  the  court-room." 


A  Lifetime  in  a  Day  327 

put  him  on  trial  for  his  life.  What  a  strange  fate  ! 
The  faces  grew  dim,  and  a  sense  of  illimitable  and 
awful  ruin  crushed  him. 

A  soft  hand  stole  gently  into  his,  and  its  warmth 
cleared  his  brain. 

He  looked  around  the  room  and,  to  his  surprise, 
saw  dozens  of  people  he  had  helped  in  his  ministry 
of  the  Pilgrim  Church.  Just  in  front  of  him  sat  a 
woman  who,  under  the  inspiration  of  his  preaching, 
had  given  her  fortune  to  found  an  orphanage  for 
homeless  girls,  and  was  spending  her  life  in  happy 
service  as  its  presiding  genius. 

She  nodded  and  smiled,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  group  of  lawyers  behind 
him,  and  the  old  woman  who  had  kissed  him  the  day 
Ruth  was  watching  pushed  to  his  side,  seized  his 
hand,  choked,  and  could  say  nothing.  She  had 
come  all  the  way  from  Virginia  to  cheer  him. 

Ludlow,  his  faithful  deacon,  he  saw,  and  near 
him  sat  Van  Meter.  The  little  black  eyes  were 
solemn  and  the  mouth  drawn  with  sorrow.  Over 
against  the  wall,  jammed  in  the  crowd,  he  saw  Jerry 
Edwards,  who  was  still  telling  the  story  of  his  life 
with  reverent  wonder  and  love.  He  clasped  both 
hands  together,  shook  them  over  the  heads  of  the 
crowd,  and  smiled. 

A  feeling  of  awe  came  over  him  as  he  thought  of 
the  eternity  of  man's  deeds,  going  on  and  on  forever, 
whatever  might  be  his  own  fate. 


328  The  One  Woman 

He  looked  curiously  at  Barringer,  the  young 
Assistant  District  Attorney,  who  was  conducting 
the  case  against  him.  In  the  dark-brown  eyes,  keen 
and  piercing,  there  was  deadly  hostility.  He  had 
become  famous  as  a  relentless  public  prosecutor. 
He  came  of  a  long  line  of  great  lawyers  of  the  old 
South,  and  the  breath  of  a  court-room  was  born 
in  his  nostrils.  Gordon  was  chilled  by  the  cold, 
clear  ring  of  his  penetrating  voice. 

While  the  jury  was  being  impaneled,  Ruth  sat 
by  Gordon,  eagerly  trying  to  see  the  invisible 
secrets  of  every  juror's  soul  who  faced  the  man 
she  loved. 

The  court  ruled  that  Socialists  were  disqualified 
to  sit  on  the  case. 

When  the  twelve  men  were  selected  she  scanned 
their  faces  with  searching  gaze  for  the  signs  of  life 
or  death.  Their  names  all  seemed  strange.  She 
could  make  nothing  out  of  them. 

The  opening  address  of  Barringer  choked  her 
with  fear.  In  cold-blooded  words  he  told  the  jury 
of  the  certainty  of  the  guilt  of  the  prisoner.  His 
manner  was  earnest,  dignified  and  terrible  in  its 
persuasive  assurance. 

For  days  his  awful  closing  sentence  rang  like  a 
death  knell  in  her  ears. 

Four  days  of  the  week  were  consumed  by  the 
witnesses  for  the  prosecution.  On  Friday  morning 
Ruth  and  her  lawyers  were  elated  over  the  unim 
portant  character  of  the  testimony. 


A  Lifetime  in  a  Day  329 

Suddenly  Barringer  looked  at  the  prisoner, 
frowned,  and  said : 

"  Call  Kate  Ransom  Gordon  to  the  witness  stand." 

The  prisoner  went  white  and  lowered  his  eyes. 

There  was  a  stir  at  the  side  door.  With  quick, 
firm  step  the  magnificent  figure  crossed  the  room, 
with  every  eye  save  one  riveted  on  her  beautiful 
face. 

She  took  her  seat,  and  in  cool,  clear  tones  told  her 
story. 

The  prisoner  looked  up  once,  and  she  met  his 
gaze  with  a  glance  of  fierce  resentment. 

She  gave  the  long  history  of  his  suspicions  of  Over 
man,  of  their  quarrels  about  him,  of  his  jealousy 
and  his  threat  to  kill  him.  With  minute  detail  she 
explained  the  events  of  the  fatal  Sunday,  described 
his  entrapping  Overman  in  the  library  unarmed, 
and  of  his  murder  in  the  dark.  She  told  how  she 
had  rushed  to  the  door  and  found  no  light  within, 
and  how  he  had  enticed  her  into  the  room  and 
attempted  to  choke  her  to  death. 

Finally  she  explained  to  the  jury  that  the  wounds 
Gordon  had  received  were  not  from  Overman  in  a 
fight,  but  that  he  had  tried  to  kill  her  and  commit 
suicide  and  had  failed. 

For  five  hours  she  sat  in  the  witness  chair  and 
coolly  swore  his  life  away,  baffling  with  keenest 
wit  at  every  turn  the  shrewd  lawyer  who  baited, 
harassed  and  cross-questioned  her  with  merciless 
vigour. 


330  The  One  Woman 

When  she  declared  that  Gordon's  wounds  were 
self-inflicted,  he  stared  at  her  in  dazed  wonder  and 
gasped  to  Ruth: 

"  Merciful  God,  is  she  deliberately  lying,  or  does 
she  believe  it?" 

Ruth  did  not  answer,  but  slipped  her  warm  little 
hand  in  his  and  pressed  it.  His  fingers  were  like 
icicles. 

Gordon  seemed  to  sink  into  a  stupor  and  take 
no  further  note  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  room. 

He  turned  around,  placed  his  arm  on  the  chair, 
and  fixed  his  eyes  on  Ruth,  looking,  looking !  As 
he  felt  her  hot  hand  trying  to  warm  the  chill  of 
death  in  his  own,  he  followed  every  movement  of  a 
muscle  of  her  face  with  hypnotic  intensity. 

When  they  led  him  back  to  the  prison  van  his 
shoulders  drooped  with  mortal  weariness.  He  had 
lived  a  lifetime  in  a  day,  and  his  hair  had  turned 
gray. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE  VERDICT 

GORDON  seemed  to  take  no  further  interest  in  the 
trial.  He  only  sat  day  after  day  and  watched  Ruth. 
Now  and  then  a  faint  flush  tinged  the  prison  pallor 
of  his  cheeks  as  from  some  thought  passing  in  his 
memory. 

Barringer's  speech  to  the  jury  was  one  of  fierce 
and  terrible  eloquence.  Every  art  of  persuasion, 
every  trick  of  oratory,  every  force  of  personality 
he  used  with  pitiless  power.  In  ridicule,  sarcasm, 
invective,  pathos  and  logic,  his  voice  rose  and  fell, 
pulsed  and  quivered,  or  rang  with  the  peal  of  a 
trumpet.  He  held  the  jury  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand  for  four  hours,  while  Ruth  stared  at  him  with 
her  heart  in  her  throat,  every  word  cutting  her  flesh 
like  a  knife  or  smashing  the  tissues  of  her  brain  with 
the  force  of  a  bludgeon. 

The  jury  retired. 

Through  the  dreary  hours  of  the  afternoon  Ruth 
sat  in  the  anteroom  by  Gordon's  side  waiting  for 
the  verdict.  Minutes  lengthened  into  hours,  and 
hours  into  days  and  years,  until  time  and  eternity 
were  one,  and  she  lived  a  life  of  despair  or  hope 
within  the  second  between  the  ticks  of  the  clock 
on  the  wall. 


332  The  One  Woman 

She  tried  to  say  a  word  of  cheer  to  Gordon,  and 
choked.  The  little  chin  drooped,  showing  the  white 
teeth,  and  she  sat  in  dumb  misery  like  a  sick  child. 

The  man  looked  at  her  tenderly  and  said: 

"You  must  be  calm,  Ruth,  dear.  Death  is  a 
physical  incident  that  no  longer  interests  me,  except 
as  it  affects  you.  You  are  the  one  miracle  of  life 
and  death  to  me." 

She  pressed  his  hand  and  could  not  answer. 

At  five  o'clock  the  jury  returned  for  instructions, 
and  she  listened  with  agony  to  their  awful  questions. 

At  six  o'clock  there  was  a  hurried  stir  in  the 
court-room.  The  crowd  surged  into  its  doors  and 
packed  every  inch  of  space. 

The  jury  were  filing  in  with  their  verdict. 

The  judge  solemnly  took  his  seat,  and  the  clerk 
summoned  Gordon  to  stand  up. 

The  giant  figure  rose  with  dignity  and  his  steel- 
gray  eyes  pierced  the  jury. 

The  foreman's  lips  moved: 

"  Guilty  of  murder  in  the  first  degree  !" 

A  long  breath,  a  stir,  a  murmur — and  then  a 
broken  sob  from  a  woman's  heart.  Her  arms  were 
around  his  neck,  her  head  on  his  breast,  and  her 
swollen  lips  in  low,  piteous  tones  cried : 

"My  darling!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  APPEAL 

Two  weeks  later  the  judge  pronounced  the 
sentence  of  death.  Again  the  dark  figure  was  by 
the  prisoner's  side,  alert,  erect,  every  faculty  of 
mind  and  body  at  its  highest  tension,  her  cheeks 
aflame  with  defiance,  her  eyes  gleaming  with  hidden 
fire. 

She  was  sure  the  Court  of  Appeals  would  grant 
a  new  trial.  She  bade  her  beloved  good-by  at  the 
gates  of  Sing  Sing,  and  the  door  of  the  Chamber  of 
Death  closed  upon  him. 

Day  and  night  she  worked  with  tireless  energy. 
She  systematically  laid  siege  to  the  editors  and 
owners  of  the  papers  in  New  York,  and  at  last  won 
every  hostile  critic  by  her  patience,  her  beauty  of 
character,  and  the  infinite  pathos  of  her  love. 

The  moment  sentence  of  death  was  pronounced 
on  Gordon,  Kate  sued  for  a  divorce  from  him  as  a 
convicted  felon,  and  it  was  granted. 

The  little  dark  woman  became  the  toast  of  every 
hardened  newspaper  reporter  who  came  in  contact 
with  her.  The  newsboys  learned  to  recognise  her 
from  her  pictures,  and  as  she  went  in  and  out  of 
the  court-rooms  and  the  lawyers'  offices  they  would 

333 


334  The  One  Woman 

watch  and  wait  for  her,  doff  their  dirty  caps,  smile, 
hand  her  a  flower,  and  cry: 

"She's  de  queen  I" 

When  Ruth  saw  the  notice  of  Kate's  divorce, 
she  asked  her  lawyers  to  arrange  at  once  for  her  to 
remarry  Gordon  at  Sing  Sing. 

The  senior  counsel  shook  his  head. 

"You  must  not  dare,  madam,"  he  gravely  said. 
"If  we  should  not  get  a  new  trial,  or  fail  on  the 
second  trial,  the  Governor  at  Albany  is  our  only 
hope." 

A  wave  of  sickening  terror  swept  Ruth's  soul. 
She  recalled  King's  strange  reserve  of  the  past 
months.  His  letters  were  kind  and  sympathetic, 
but  there  was  something  hidden  between  their  lines 
that  chilled  her. 

"We  must  not  lose !"  she  answered,  bitterly. 

"I  don't  think  we  will,"  the  lawyer  hastened  to 
assure  her.  "  But  we  must  reserve  every  weapon." 

The  Court  of  Appeals  decided  in  Gordon's  favour 
and  ordered  a  new  trial. 

As  the  day  approached,  Ruth's  nervousness  in 
creased.  His  chances  were  better,  but  she  could 
hear  the  awful  words  of  Kate  Ransom  swearing 
away  his  life.  Their  echoes  rang  in  her  soul  until 
she  could  no  longer  endure  it. 

She  was  at  Gramercy  Park  at  last. 

When  Kate  swept  proudly  and  coldly  into  the 
room,  and  extended  her  hand,  she  held  it  in  her 
grasp  timidly  and  nervously. 


The  Appeal  335 

"  I've  come  to  beg  you,"  she  said,  piteously,  "not 
to  say  he  made  those  wounds  in  his  own  breast. 
They  fought  a  duel  as  men  have  often  done.  You 
were  in  a  swoon.  You  thought  he  did  it  himself 
because  he  told  you  he  was  going  to  die  with  you. 
He  did  not  hurt  you.  He  only  laid  you  tenderly 
on  the  lounge,  smoothed  your  hair,  kissed  and  left 
you.  Surely  you  have  brought  me  enough  sorrow. 
Have  pity  on  me  ! ' ' 

Kate  led  her  to  a  seat  and  spoke  with  quiet 
decision.  "I  said  what  I  believed  to  be  the  truth. 
I  shall  repeat  it.  I  can  feel  his  wild  beast's  claws 
on  my  throat  now  in  the  night  sometimes  and  wake 
with  a  scream." 

"Ah,  but  he  was  mad,"  she  cried,  through  her 
tears.  "  He  is  tender  and  gentle  as  a  child.  Surely 
you" — she  paused  and  caught  her  breath — "who 
have  slept  with  your  head  on  his  dear  breast  know 
this!" 

"It  is  useless  to  talk  to  me,"  she  answered,  with 
anger.  "He  deserves  to  die.  And  it  will  be  a 
good  riddance  for  you,  and  for  the  world.  He  was 
stirring  the  passions  of  mobs  that  will  yet  make  work 
for  hangmen." 

"But  he  is  not  on  trial  for  this,"  she  pleaded. 
"You  should  be  the  last  to  reproach  him  with  it. 
Think  of  all  the  sacrifices  for  you — his  career,  his 
wife  and  children,  his  father,  his  friends.  Surely 
there  is  yet  one  spark  of  love  for  him  in  your  heart  ? " 

Kate  shook  her  head. 


336  The  One  Woman 

"Then  for  my  sake,  I  beg  of  you — you  are  a 
woman.  You  have  loved.  Have  mercy  on  me. 
You  asked  me  once  for  help — did  I  fail  you?" 

The  blond  face  softened. 

"No,  you  didn't.  I'm  sorry  for  you.  If  it  were 
your  life,  I'd  save  it  if  I  swore  a  thousand  lies — but 
for  him,  the  brute — I  can  feel  him  strangling  me 
now — you  have  not  felt  his  hands  on  your  throat." 

"No,"  said  the  soft  contralto  voice,  "not  on  my 
throat :  it  would  have  been  a  relief  to  have  felt  them 
there.  They  were  on  my  soul.  But  I  love  him — -— ' ' 

Kate  was  relentless,  and  Ruth  left,  shivering  with 
anguish  and  angry  pride. 

The  new  trial  dragged  its  length  to  the  second 
jury.  Ruth  spent  and  pledged  the  last  dollar  of 
her  fortune. 

Once  more  she  heard  the  foreman,  in  tones  that 
seemed  far  off  in  space,  say  the  fatal  word — 

"Guilty !" 

She  stood  by  his  side  again  before  the  judge  and 
heard  the  words  of  death  fall  from  his  lips,  this  time 
with  blanched  face  and  cold  little  fingers  locked  in 
agony. 

Again  the  gates  at  Sing  Sing  closed,  and  a 
woman  turned  her  footsteps  toward  the  Governor's 
Mansion  at  Albany. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
BETWEEN   Two   FIRES 

RUTH  trembled  at  the  thought  of  her  appeal  to 
King.  She  knew  his  iron  will,  his  intense  love,  and 
the  certainty  with  which  he  had  long  regarded  their 
coming  union.  His  ambitions  were  still  mounting, 
and  daily  with  better  assurances  of  success.  His 
party  had  chosen  another  man  their  candidate  for 
the  Presidency,  and  had  been  overwhelmed  in 
defeat,  while  he  had  been  reflected  Governor  by  a 
larger  plurality. 

He  received  her  with  grave  tenderness. 

"Morris,"  she  cried,  pathetically,  seizing  his  hand 
and  holding  it,  "he  is  not  guilty  of  murder.  Every 
thing  has  been  against  him  in  these  trials.  They 
were  not  fair.  He  killed  that  man  in  what  men  have 
always  called  a  fair  fight.  You  are  a  manly  man. 
You  believe  in  justice.  You  will  not  let  them  kill 
him  I" 

She  could  feel  the  strong  man's  hand  tremble  in 
hers,  looked  up  into  his  face,  and  saw  a  tear  quiver 
on  his  lashes. 

"Oh  !  Ruth,"  he  cried,  bitterly,  "why  do  you  cling 
to  this  man  ?  He  is  regarded  as  the  most  dangerous 
firebrand  in  America.  I  could  show  you  hundreds 

337 


33  8  The  One  Woman 

of  letters  piled  on  that  desk  begging  me  in  the  name 
of  law  and  order  and  all  the  forces  of  civilised  society 
not  to  interfere  with  his  sentence.  Come,  you  know 
how  I  love  you.  This  is  horrible  cruelty  to  me.  The 
doors  of  the  White  House  are  opening.  You  know 
that  what  I  have,  am  now,  and  ever  may  be,  is 
yours.  It  will  all  be  ashes  without  you.  I  offer 
you  a  deathless  love,  honour  and  glory,  and  you 
come  here  to  tell  me  you  prefer  a  convicted  felon 
in  his  cell.  My  God,  it  is  too  much  !" 

The  Governor  leaned  on  his  desk  and  shaded 
his  face  with  his  hands. 

"How  can  I  help  it,  Morris,  if  I  love  him?"  she 
asked,  piteously. 

He  raised  his  head,  looked  away,  and  softly  said : 

"Ruth,  could  you  never  love  me?" 

She  was  silent  a  moment  and  her  lips  trembled. 

"If  he  dies,  I  cannot  live,"  she  gasped. 

He  leaned  close,  took  her  hand,  and  said : 

"I'll  order  a  stay  of  sentence  for  three  months." 

She  kissed  his  hand,  and  murmured : 

"Thank  you." 


From  the  telegraph  office  at  Albany  over  the 
wires  to  Sing  Sing's  house  of  death  flew  the  message : 

"Sentence  stayed  for  three  months  while  the 
Governor  considers  your  pardon.  Faith  and  hope 
eternal.  RUTH." 


Between  Two  Fires  339 

The  next  express  carried  her  to  him  with  the  copy 
of  the  Governor's  order  in  her  bosom. 

The  warden  smiled  and  congratulated  her.  She 
had  long  before  won  his  heart,  and  there  was  no 
favour  within  the  limits  of  law  that  he  had  not 
granted  to  the  man  she  loved. 

Ruth  looked  at  Gordon  tenderly  through  the 
barred  opening  of  his  cell. 

Her  heart  ached  as  she  saw  the  ashen  pallor  of  his 
face  and  the  skin  beginning  to  draw  tight  and  slick 
across  the  protruding  cheek-bones  of  his  once  mag 
nificent  face.  Three  years  of  prison  had  bent  his 
shoulders  and  reduced  his  giant  frame  to  a  mere 
shadow  of  his  former  self.  Only  the  eyes  had 
grown  larger  and  softer,  and  their  gaze  now  seemed 
turned  within.  They  burned  with  a  feverish  mystic 
beauty. 

Ruth  fixed  on  him  a  look  of  melting  tenderness 
and  asked: 

"Do  you  not  long  for  the  open  fields,  the  sky  and 
sea,  my  dear?" 

He  gazed  at  her  hungrily. 

"No.  Sometimes  I've  felt  a  queer  homesickness 
in  these  dying  muscles  that  thirst  for  the  open  world, 
but  I've  no  time  to  think  of  mountain  or  lake,  or 

hear  the  call  of  field  or  sea Ruth,  I  can  only 

think  of  you !  I  have  but  one  interest,  but  one 
desire  of  soul  and  body — that  you  may  be  happy.  I 
would  be  free,  not  because  I  fear  death  or  covet 
life" — his  voice  sank  to  a  broken  whisper — "but 


34°  The  One  Woman 

that  I  might  crawl  around  the  earth  on  my  hands 
and  knees  and  confess  my  shame  and  sorrow  that 
I  deserted  you." 

"Hush,  hush,  my  love;  I  forgive  you,"  she 
moaned. 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  all  time  and  eternity  will  be 
too  short  for  my  repentance." 

The  woman  was  sobbing  bitterly. 

"These  prison  bars,"  he  went  on  with  strange 
elation,  "are  nothing.  The  old  queer  instinct 
of  asceticism  within  me,  that  made  a  preacher 
of  an  Epicurean  and  an  athlete,  has  come 
back  to  its  kingship.  Its  sublime  authority 
is  now  supreme.  I  despise  life,  and  have 
learned  to  live.  There  is  no  task  so  hard 
but  that  the  king  within  demands  a  harder. 
There  can  be  no  pain  so  fierce  and  cruel 
but  that  it  calls  my  soul  to  laughter.  As  for 
Death " 

His  voice  sank  to  dreamy  notes. 

"She  who  comes  at  last  with  velvet  feet 
and  the  tender  touch  of  a  pure  woman's  hand 
— her  face  is  radiant,  her  voice  low  music. 
She  will  speak  the  end  of  strife  and  doubt,  and 
loose  these  bars.  With  friendly  smile  she  will 
show  me  the  path  among  the  stars,  until 
I  find  the  face  of  God.  I'll  tell  Him  I'm  a 
son  of  His  who  lost  the  way  on  life's  great  plain, 
and  that  I  am  sorry  for  all  the  pain  I've  caused  to 
those  who  loved  me." 


Between  Two  Fires  341 

Ruth  felt  through  the  bars  and  grasped  his  hand, 
sobbing. 

"Don't,  don't,  don't,  Frank!  Stop!  I  cannot 
endure  it !" 

The  warden  turned  away  to  hide  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
SWIFT  AND  BEAUTIFUL  FEET 

FOR  three  months  Ruth  went  back  and  forth  from 
Sing  Sing  to  Albany,  battling  with  the  Governor 
for  Gordon's  life  and  cheering  the  condemned  man 
with  her  courage  and  love. 

The  fatal  day  of  the  execution  had  come,  and  she 
was  to  wage  the  last  battle  of  her  soul  for  the  life  of 
her  love  with  the  man  who  loved  her. 

It  was  a  day  of  storm.  The  spring  rains  had  been 
pouring  in  torrents  for  a  week  and  the  wind  was  now 
dashing  against  the  windows  blinding  sheets  of  water. 

A  carriage  stopped  before  the  Governor's  Mansion, 
and  two  women  wrapped  in  long  cloaks  leaped 
quickly  out.  The  Governor  was  at  his  desk  in  his 
office. 

There  was  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress  at  his 
door.  He  looked  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  trembling. 

He  threw  one  hand  to  his  forehead  as  though  to 
clear  his  brain,  and  caught  a  chair  with  the  other. 

Advancing  swiftly  toward  him,  he  saw  the  white 
vision  of  Ruth  Spottswood  the  night  of  the  ball 
when  he  had  lost  her.  The  same  dress,  the  same 
rounded  throat,  only  the  bust  a  little  fuller,  and  the 
same  beautiful  bare  arms  with  the  delicate  wrists 

342 


Swift  and  Beautiful  Feet  343 

and  tapering  fingers.  The  great  soulful  eyes,  with 
just  a  gleam  of  young  sunshine  in  their  depths,  and 
the  same  flowers  on  her  breast.  She  walked  with 
lithe,  quick  grace,  and  now  she  was  talking  in  the 
low  sweet  contralto  music  that  had  echoed  in  his 
soul  through  the  years. 

"Please,  Governor,"  she  was  saying,  as  her  hot 
hand  held  his,  "save  my  father !" 

The  man's  eyes  were  blinking,  and  he  put  one 
hand  to  his  throat  as  though  he  were  about  to  choke. 
He  looked  past  the  white  figure  of  the  girl  and  saw 
her  mother  kneeling  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  the 
tears  streaming  down  her  face  and  her  lips  moving 
in  prayer. 

In  quick  tones  he  called : 

"Ruth !" 

She  leaped  to  her  feet  and  was  before  him  in 
a  moment,  with  scarlet  face,  dilated  eyes  and 
disheveled  hair. 

"You've  won.     I  give  it  up." 

Ruth  pressed  both  hands  to  her  breast  and  caught 
her  breath  to  keep  from  screaming. 

He  pressed  the  button  on  his  desk.  The  clerk 
appeared. 

"Write  out  a  full  pardon  for  Frank  Gordon,  and  call 
the  warden  of  Sing  Sing !" 

Ruth  dropped  to  her  knees,  crying: 

"O  Lord  God,  unto  thee  I  give  praise  !" 

In  a  moment  the  clerk  hurried  back  to  the 
Governor's  side  and  in  startling  tones  whispered: 


344  The  One  Woman 

"The  wires  are  down,  sir.  I  can't  get  the 
warden." 

The  Governor  snatched  his  watch  from  his  pocket. 

"There  is  no  train  for  two  hours.  Order  me  a 
special !" 

The  despatcher  flashed  his  command  for  a  clear 
track  as  far  as  the  wires  would  work,  and  within 
fifteen  minutes  the  great  engine  with  its  single  coach 
dashed  across  the  bridge  and  plunged  down  the 
grade  toward  Sing  Sing,  roaring,  hissing,  screaming 
its  warnings  above  the  splash  and  howl  of  the  storm. 

The  Governor  sat  silent  with  his  head  resting  on 
his  hand,  shading  his  eyes. 

Ruth,  still  and  pale,  gazed  out  the  car  window, 
and,  shivering,  closed  her  eyes  now  and  then  over 
the  vision  of  a  cold  dead  face  she  feared  to  see  at 
the  journey's  end. 

They  had  made  fifty  miles  in  fifty  minutes,  and 
not  a  word  had  been  spoken. 

The  Governor  looked  at  his  watch  and  leaned 
over: 

"Cheer  up,  Ruth.  We  are  making  a  mile  a 
minute  through  the  storm,  over  slippery  rails.  We 
will  make  it  in  time." 

Suddenly  the  emergency  brakes  came  down  with 
a  crash,  every  wheel  was  locked,  and  the  train  slid 
heavily  on  the  track,  hissing,  grinding,  swaying,  the 
steel  rails  blazing  with  sparks. 

The  Governor  sprang  from  the  car. 

"We're  blocked  by  a  wreck,  sir,"  the  conductor 


Swift  and  Beautiful  Feet  345 

said,  touching  his  cap.  "The  high  water  has  under 
mined  the  track  on  the  river  bank." 

Within  twenty  minutes  the  engine  in  front  of  the 
wreck  was  secured,  Ruth  and  Lucy  were  in  the  cab, 
and  the  engineer  and  fireman  stood  reading  their 
orders. 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  the  Governor,"  said  a  voice  by 
their  side. 

They  looked  up. 

"This  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  The  life  of 
a  man — and  the  life  of  the  little  pale  woman  I 
helped  into  your  cab.  Put  this  engine  into  Sing 
Sing  by  five  minutes  to  two  o'clock  and  I'll  give 
you  a  thousand  dollars.  Five  hundred  for  each 
of  you." 

The  engineer  smiled. 

"We'll  do  it  for  you,  sir,  without  money.  We 
voted  for  you." 

The  Governor  pressed  their  hands. 

Down  the  storm-clouded  track  the  engine  flew 
with  throbbing  heart  of  steel  and  breath  of  fire  like 
a  panting  demon.  Back  and  forth  over  the  spongy 
rails  she  swayed,  her  mighty  ribs  cracking  as  she 
lurched  and  jumped  and  plunged.  But  the  fireman 
in  his  flannel  shirt,  dripping  with  perspiration,  never 
paused,  as  with  steady  stroke  he  fed  her  roaring 
mouth;  and  the  engineer,  with  his  hand  on  her 
pulse,  leaned  far  out  of  the  cab  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  flying  track. 


346  The  One  Woman 

The  hour  for  the  condemned  man  was  at  hand. 
He  had  asked  the  warden  as  a  special  favour  to  do 
his  duty  without  delay  at  the  appointed  time. 

Gordon  was  ready,  dressed  with  his  old  fastidious 
distinction  to  the  last  detail  of  his  toilet.  He  had 
spent  the  entire  night  before  writing  to  Ruth  the 
last  chapter  in  a  secret  diary  he  had  kept  and  given 
to  the  warden  for  her. 

The  warden  read  the  death  warrant  with  halting 
lips.  He  had  been  strangely  drawn  to  this  tall 
young  giant  with  his  premature  gray  hairs.  Gordon's 
words  of  lyric  fire  to  him  of  the  mysteries  of  life  and 
death  had  thrown  a  spell  over  his  imagination. 
He  was  going  to  kill  him  now  with  the  horrible 
feeling  that  he  was  his  own  brother. 

"Come,  my  friend,"  Gordon  said  to  him,  cheer 
fully,  "you  promised  me  there  should  be  no  delay. 
I've  a  child's  eagerness  now  to  push  the  black 
curtains  aside  and  see  what  lies  beyond.  I've  often 
dreamed  and  wondered.  In  a  few  minutes  I  shall 
know.  I  hear  it  calling  me,  that  unknown  world 
of  silence,  beauty  and  mystery.  Let  us  make 
haste." 

But  the  feet  of  the  jailer  were  of  lead.  He  would 
stop  and  hold  his  lower  lip  tightly  under  his  teeth, 
as  though  in  pain. 

At  last  they  were  in  the  dim  chamber  that  is  the 
vestibule  of  death.  The  cap  had  been  drawn  over 
his  face  and  the  leather  straps  buckled  on  his  wrists 
legs, 


Swift  and  Beautiful  Feet  347 

The  warden  put  his  hand  on  the  electric  switch. 

There  was  a  shout  and  a  stir  without,  the  thump 
of  hurrying  feet,  and  the  butt  of  a  guard's  gun 
thundered  against  the  door. 

The  warden  sprang  forward. 

11  Stop  !  The  Governor  !"  he  heard  faintly  shouted 
through  the  deep-padded  panels. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
THE   Kiss   OF   THE   BRIDE 

FOR  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  Governor  sat  and 
talked  with  Lucy,  waiting  the  arrival  of  Gordon  and 
Ruth.  The  warden  arranged  that  they  should  meet 
in  the  adjoining  room  alone. 

No  eye  save  God's  saw  their  meeting.  Those  who 
waited  only  heard  through  the  heavy  curtains  half 
articulate  cries  like  the  soft  crooning  of  a  mother 
over  her  babe. 

When  they  entered  the  room  and  Lucy  had  clung 
passionately  for  a  moment  to  the  neck  of  the  tall, 
gaunt  figure,  the  Governor  took  his  hand. 

"I  have  accepted  Ruth's  word  and  yours  for  the 
truth  in  this  case,  Frank  Gordon.  I  have  grown 
to  know  that  she  is  the  soul  of  truth.  I  heard  you 
preach  once  from  the  text,  '  He  saved  others,  himself 
he  could  not  save.'  I  did  not  know  then  what  you 
were  talking  about.  I  know  now " 

"Oh,  Morris,"  Ruth  broke  in,  "we  will  always 
love  you  as  the  nearest  and  dearest  friend  on 
earth." 

"As  for  you,  Frank  Gordon,"  he  went  on.  "I 
could  no  longer  hate  you  if  I  tried.  In  the 
presence  of  a  love  so  pure,  so  divine  as  that 

348 


The  Kiss  of  the  Bride  349 

which  hallows  your  life,  I  uncover  my  head.  I 
am  on  holy  ground — I  am  in  the  presence  of  the 
living  God. 

He  turned  away,  and  Ruth  broke  into  a  sob, 
while  the  man  by  her  side  hung  his  head  and  sat 
down  as  though  too  weak  to  stand. 

The  Governor  lifted  Gordon  from  the  seat,  seized 
Ruth's  hand  and  placed  it  in  his. 

"I  know  your  heart's  desire,  Ruth,"  he  said, 
slowly.  * '  I  have  an  officer  of  the  law  here  to  per 
form  a  marriage  ceremony.  Holding  your  first 
marriage  a  divine  sacrament,  you  once  planned  a 
civil  one  in  this  grim  prison.  No  matter  how  I 
learned  this:  it  shall  be  so  to-day." 

The  magistrate  advanced  and  pronounced  them 
husband  and  wife,  sat  down  by  a  desk,  and  made 
out  the  record. 

The  Governor  rose  and  handed  the  official  pardon 
to  Gordon. 

"To  you  I  give  life." 

He  tore  the  other  paper  into  two  parts  by  its 
dotted  lines,  handed  Ruth  one  half  and  held  the 
other  in  his  trembling  fingers. 

"This,  Ruth,  is  your  marriage  certificate" — he 
paused — "and  my  death  warrant.  Frank  Gordon, 
we  have  changed  places." 

Again  the  woman  sobbed. 

"You  have  forgotten  something,  Morris,"  she 
answered,  wistfully. 

"Yes,  I  know:  myself." 


The  One  Woman 

"It  is  your  right  to  kiss  the  bride,"  she  said, 
softly,  "and  I  wish  it." 

He  stooped  and  reverently  touched  her  forehead. 
And  when  he  turned  away  Lucy  stood  before  him, 
her  soft  young  bosom,  neck  and  face  crimson,  her 
eyes  dancing,  and  the  sweet  little  mouth  quivering. 

"May  I  kiss  you,  Governor?"  she  cried,  trem 
blingly.  "  You  are  my  hero  ! " 

Her  bare  arms  flashed  around  his  neck,  and  her 
warm  lips  met  his. 

In  the  mansion  on  the  hill  at  Albany  the  Governor 
sat  that  night  in  his  magnificent  room  alone  until 
the  dawn  of  day,  holding  in  his  hand  an  old  battered 
tintype  picture  of  a  laughing  girl  standing  beside  a 
poor  young  lawyer. 


THE  END 


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